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I  S  DENISON  PUBLISHER 


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MONEY 


.A.  COMEDY  X2ST  FIVE  ACTS 


By  Sir  Edward  Bulwer  Lytton, 

Author  of  “ Lady  of  Lyons,"  Richelieu,  etc. 


ITH  THE  STAGE  BUSINESS,  CAST  OF  CHARACTERS,  COS 
TUMES,  RELATIVE  POSITIONS,  ETC. 


I 


CHICAGO 

T.  S.  DENISON,  Publisher 
163  Randolph  St. 


/ 


CAST  OF  CHARACTERS. 

Ilaymarket,  1&40. 

Alfred  Evelyn . ...Mr.  Macreaoy 

Sir  John  Vesev . Mr.  Strickla:n-d 

Lord  Glossmore . Mr.  Vin%g 

Sir  Frederick  Blount . Mr.  Lacy 

Stout . .Mr.  1).  REgg 

Graves .  Mr.  Websti5r 

Captain  Dudley  Smooth . Mr.  Wreni:h 


Sharp 


Old  Member . * 

Sir  John’s  Servant . ’ 

Toke . . . 


appear  are  usually  omitted. 


Time  of  playing,  three  hours. 


STAGE  DIRECTIONS. 


(2) 


•  JEi.  •• 


Evelyn's  Servant . 

First  and  Second  Members . . t' 

Crimson,  a  portrait  painter .  ) 

Patent,  a  coachmaker .  |  In  the  representation  the  ptis. 

Frantz,  a  tailor .  J-  sage  in  which  these  characters 


Tabouret,  an  Upholsterer . 

Grab,  a  Publisher . 

Clara  Douglas . .  *  s 

Lady  Franklin . Mrs.  GlovFr 

Georgina . . . . . 

Officer,  Club  Members,  Flat,  Green,  etc.,  Waiters  at  the  Club, 

Servants. 


R  means  right  of  the  stage;  C  centre;  R  G  right  centre;  L  left; 
R  D  right  door;  L  D  left  door,  etc.;  1  E  first  entrance:  U  E  up{ier 
entrance,  etc.;  D  F  door  in  fiat  (back  of  the  stage):  1  G  first  groove> 
etc.  The  actor  is  supposed  to  be  facing  the  audience. 


. 


COSTUMES. 


}Jj 

lit- 


Alfred  Evelyn. — First  Dress:  Black  frock  coat  and  vest,  Oxford 
gray  trousers,  cloth-top  shoes,  and  black  neckerchief. — Second 
Dress:  Fashionable  blue  frock  coat  with  velvet  collar,  buff  vest  with 
rolling  collar,  kerseymere  trousers  tightly  strapped  down,  polished 
leather  boots,  black  satin  scarf,  white  riding  gloves  and  black  hat. — 
Fourth  Act,  Scene  I:  Brocade  dressing  gown. — For  Dinner:  Black 
dress  coat  lined  with  black  silk,  white  vest  with  rolling  collar, 
black  kerseymere  trousers,  black  satin  cravat  embroidered  with 
gold. — Fifth  Act:  Dress  of  second  act. 

Stout. — Green  cut-off  coat  with  broad  tails,  striped  vest,  white 
cravat  with  large  tie,  nankeen  trousers  without  straps,  cloth  top 
shoes,  large  red  pocket  handkerchief,  white  hat  with  black  crape 
around  it,  which  is  removed  after  the  first  act. 

Sir  John  Vesey. — Black  dress  coat  and  trousers,  white  vest  and 
cravat,  white  hair,  with  double  eye-glasses  hanging  by  chain  round 
neck. 

Glossmore. — Black  frock  coat  and  trousers,  polished  leather  boots, 
black  vest,  white  cravat  and  light  kid  gloves. — Second  Act:  Colored 
vest. — Fourth  Act:  Full  dinner  costume. 

Graves. — Body  coat  and  full  black  suit,  black  gloves.  In  third 
act,'  a  gay  colored  silk  handkerchief. 

Blount. — Fashionable  black  suit  in  first  act,  which  is  afterward 
changed  for  one  of  a  gay  character. 

Dudley  Smooth. — Fashionable  morning  costume. — Second  Dress: 
Frock  coat,  light  colored  pantaloons,  glazed  leather  boots. — Fourth 
Act:  Very  fashionable  dinner  dress. 

Clara  Douglas. — First  Dress:  Black  barege  walking  dress,  high 
neck  and  long  sleeves,  slightly  trimmed  with  black  lace,  hair  plain, 
black  shoes  and  stockings,  black  satin  apron. — Second  Dress:  White 
muslin  demi -toilet,  pink  ribbons,  gold  bracelets  and  ornaments. — 
Last  Dress:  Black  velvet  walking  dress,  with  ornaments  of  malakite 
and  gold. 

Lady  Franklin. —  Three  First  Acts:  A  gay-colored  silk  dress. — 
Fourth  Act:  Evening  dress,  with  short  sleeves  and  low  body. — Fifth 
Act:  Morning  costume. 

Georgina. — First  Dress:  White  muslin,  cut  high,  and  long  sleeves 

trimmed  with  black  ribbons  and  jet  ornaments. - Second  Act:  Col- 

lored  ribbons. — Fourth  Act:  Dinner  dress. — Fifth  Act:  Colored  silk 
walking  dress  and  fashionable  bonnet. 


EDITORIAL  INTRODUCTION. 


The  comedy  of  “Money”  was  originally  produced  the  8th  ( 
December,  1810,  at  the  Haymarket  Theatre,  London.  The  critic  d  ,f 
tin?  Literary  Gazette  says  of  its  performance:  “A  better  acting  cl  f 
better  acted  play  has  not  been  brought  out  in  our  day,  and  we  r  >r 
member  ‘John  Bull.’  It  often,  by  its  sparkling  allusions,  recalloe- 
the  ‘School  for  Scandal’  to  our  minds;  and  the  drop-scene  ce  .g 
tainly  fell  upon  every  act  amid  bursts  of  applause  at  the  skill  di(r. 
played  in  the  construction  of  these  pauses,  giving  each  a  scenic  effei^s. 
and  interest  which  could  not  be  improved.  The  strength  of  tnj«£ 
play  is  not  in  plot — it  is  meagre;  nor  in  actual  and  consequentis.e 
circumstances,  for  there  are  some  errors  and  improbabilities.  Bilj 
the  genuine  power  of  this  performance  belongs  to  an  ancient,  recog  t 
nized,  and  high  order  of  the  comic — the  power  of  seizing  the  char¬ 
acters  and  manners  of  the  age,  and  holding  the  mirror  up  to  societT. 
and  that,  too,  after  it  has  so  long  been  asserted  that  the  progress  q. 
civilization  had  destroyed  the  materials  for  such  a  purpose.  Tl|,f 
characters  all  stand  out  well  from  the  mass.  Dudley ,  alias  Deacl\e 
Smooth  (Wrench),  the  cool,  calculating  gambler,  who,  when  askecr'y 
‘Can  you  keep  a  secret?’  happily  replies,  ‘I  have  kept  myself,’ Ip 
one  instance;  Graves  (Webster),  ever  lamenting  his  lost  shrew  of  js 
wife,  and  betrayed  into  laughable  extravagances  by  his  very  griefta 
winding  up  the  whole  by  the  witty  hit  as  he  goes  off  with  the  widoj^ 
(Mrs.  Glover),  ‘Sainted  Maria!  thank  Heaven  you  are  spared  thw 
affliction!’  is  another.  Stout  (D.  Ilees),  a  radical  M.  P.,  all  for  tbjs 
enlightenment  of  the  nation,  is  a  third  original  and  striking  par  e 
In  Sir  John  Vesey  (Strickland),  also,  there  are  several  traits  of  muct,, 
originality;  and  Sir  Frederick  Blount  (Lacy),  a  fashionable  coxcomlp 
is  nearly  as  good;  Lord  Glossmore  (Mining),  as  an  aristocratic  contra^ 
to  Stout,  is  well  imagined;  and  the  principal  character,  that 
Evelyn  (Macready),  extremely  forcible,  both  in  the  feeling  and  a 
parently  reckless  and  bitterly  satirical  situations  in  which  he  spea 
and  acts.’’ 

The  present  edition  of  “  Money  ”  conforms  to  the  acting  copy  pr-. 
pared  for  the  Park  theatre.  It  was  found  impossible  to  adlie.r 
rigidly  to  the  text  of  the  closet  edition,  and  at  the  same  time  adal* 
it  to  the  wants  of  the  actor.  The  alterations  are  not,  however,  of  , 
character  to  mar  the  effect  of  the  piece  in  the  reading,  while  tin  a 
are  calculated  to  improve  it  in  the  acting.  y 

(4) 


MONEY. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — A  drawing-room  in  Sir  John  Yesey’s  house;  folding  doors 

at  the  hack ,  which  open  on  another  drawing-room.  To  the  right  a 

table  with  newspapers,  books,  etc.;  to  the  left  a  sofa  writing-table. 

Sin  JonN,  Georgina,  R.  C. 

Sir  J.  {Reading  a  letter  edged  with  black.)  Yes,  he  sajTs  at  two 
precisely.  “Dear  Sir  John — As  since  the  death  of  my  sainted 
Maria,” — hum — that’s  his  wife;  she  made  him  a  martyr,  and  now 
he  makes  her  a  saint. 

Geo.  Well,  as  since  her  death? 

Sir  J.  (Reading.)  “I  have  been  living  in  chambers,  where  I  can¬ 
not  so  well  invite  ladies,  you  will  allow  me  to  bring  Mr.  Sharp,  the 
lawyer,  to  read  the  will  of  the  late  Mr.  Mordaunt  (to  which  I  am 
appointed  executor),  at  your  house,  your  daughter  being  the  nearest 
relation.  I  shall  be  with  you  at  two  precisely. 

Henry  Graves.” 

Geo.  And  you  really  feel  sure  that  poor  Mr.  Mordaunt  has  made 
me  his  heiress? 

Sir  J.  Av,  the  richest  heiress  in  England.  Can  you  doubt  it? 
Are  you  not  his  nearest  relation?  Niece  by  your  poor  mother,  his 
own  sister.  I  feel  that  I  may  trust  you  with  a  secret.  You  see  this 
fine  house — our  fine  servants — our  fine  plate — our  fine  dinners;  every 
one  thinks  Sir  John  Yesey  a  rich  man. 

Geo.  And  are  you  not,  papa? 

Sir  J.  Not  a  bit  of  it — all  humbug,  child — all  humbug,  upon  my 
soul;  there  are  two  rules  in  life:  First,  men  are  valued  not  for  what 
they  are ,  but  what  they  seem  to  be.  Secondly,  if  you  have  no  merit 
or  money  of  your  own,  you  must  trade  on  the  merits  and  money  of 
other  people.  My  father  got  the  title  by  services  in  the  army,  and 
died  penniless.  On  the  strength  of  his  services  I  got  a  pension  of 
£400  a  year;  on  the  strength  of  £400  a  year  I  took  credit  for  £800;  on 
the  strength  of  £800  a  year  I  married  your  mother  with  £10,000;  on 
the  strength  of  £10,001)  I  took  credit  for  £40,000,  and  paid  Dickey 
Gossip  three  guineas  a  week  to  go  about  everywhere  calling  me 
“Stingy  Jack.” 

Geo.  Ha,  ha!  A  disagreeable  nickname. 

Sir  J.  But  a  valuable  reputation.  When  a  man* is  called  stingy,  it 
is  as  much  as  calling  him  rich;  and  when  a  man’s  called  rich,  why 
he’s  a  man  universally  respected.  On  the  strength  of  my  respecta¬ 
bility  I  wheedled  a  constituency,  changed  my  politics,  resigned  my 

(5) 


6 


MONEY. 


seat  to  a  minister,  who,  to  a  man  of  such  stake  in  the  country,  coulc! 
offer  nothing  less  in  return  than  a  patent  oflice  of  £2,000  a  year 
That’s  the  way  to  succeed  in  life.  Humbug,  my  dear — all  humbug, 
upon  my  soul. 

Geo.  I  must  say  that  you — 

Sir  J.  Know  the  world;  to  be  sure.  Now,  for  your  fortune,  as  jl 
spend  all  that  1  have,  I  can  have  nothing  to  leave  you;  yet  evep 
without  counting  your  uncle,  you  have  always  passed  for  an  heiresjs 
on  the  credit  of  your  expectations  from  the  savings  of  “Stingy 
•Tack.’’  The  same  with  your  education.  I  never  grudged  anything; 
to  make  a  show — never  stuffed  your  head  with  histories  and  horn  if 
lies;  but  you  draw,  you  sing,  you  dance,  you  walk  well  into  a  room'*, 
and  that’s  the  way  young  ladies  are  educated  now-a-days,  in  ordejr 
to  become  a  pride  to  their  parents  and  a  blessing  to  their  husband— V 
that  is,  when  they  have  caught  him.  Apropos  of  a  husband,  you 
know  we  thought  of  Sir  Frederick  Blount. 

Geo.  Ah,  papa,  he  is  charming. 

Sin  J.  He  was  so,  my  dear,  before  we  knew  your  poor  uncle  was 
dead;  but  an  heiress,  such  as  you  will  be,  should  look  out  for  a  duke. 
Where  the  deuce  is  Evelyn  this  morning? 

Geo.  I’ve  not  seen  him,  papa.  What  a  strange  character  he  is? 
So  sarcastic;  and  yet  he  can  be  agreeable. 

Sin  J.  A  humorist — a  cynic.  One  never  knows  how  to  take  him. 
My  private  secretary,  a  poor  cousin,  has  not  got  a  shilling,  and  yet, 
hang  me  if  he  does  not  keep  us  all  at  a  sort  of  a  distance. 

Geo.  But  why  do  you  take  him  to  live  with  us,  papa,  since  there’s 
no  good  to  be  got  by  it? 

Sin  J.  There  you  are  wrong.  He  has  a  great  deal  of  talent;  pre¬ 
pares  my  speeches,  writes  my  pamphlets,  looks  up  my  calculations. 
Besides,  he  is  our  cousin.  He  has  no  salary.  Kindness  to  a  poor  re¬ 
lation  always  tells  well  in  the  world,  and  benevolence  is  a  useful 
virtue,  particularly  when  you  can  have  it  for  nothing.  With  our 
other  cousin,  Clara,  it  was  different.  Her  father  thought  fit  to  leave 
me  her  guardian,  though  she  had  not  a  penny — a  mere  useless  in¬ 
cumbrance;  so,  you  sec,  I  got  my  half  sister,  Lady  Franklin,  to  take 
her  off  my  hands. 

Geo.  How  much  longer  is  Lady  Franklin’s  visit  to  be? 

Sm  J.  I  don’t  know,  my  dear;  the  longer  the  better,  for  her  hus¬ 
band  left  her  a  good  deal  of  money  at  her  own  disposal.  Ah,  here 
she  comes. 

Enter  Lady  Franklin  and  Clara,  It. 

Sir  J.  My  dear  sister,  we  were  just  loud  in  your  praise.  But 
how’s  this?  Not  in  mourning? 

Lady  F.  Why  should  I  go  into  mourning  for  a  man  I  never  saw? 

Sir  ,T.  Still  there  may  be  a  legacy. 

Lady  F.  Then  there’ll  be  less  cause  for  affliction.  ( Retires  up  a 
little . ) 

Sir  J.  (Aside.)  Very  silly  woman.  But,  Clara,  I  see  you  are  more 
attentive  to  the  proper  decorum;  yet  you  are  very,  very  very  dis¬ 
tantly  connected  with  the  deceased — a  third  cousin.  I  think. 


MONEY. 


7 


Clara.  Mr.  Mordaunt  once  assisted  m37  father,  and  these  poor 
robes  are  all  the  gratitude  I  can  show  him. 

Sir  J.  Gratitude!  humph!  I’m  afraid  the  minx  has  got  ex¬ 
pectations. 

Lady  F.  So  Mr.  Graves  is  the  executor — the  will  is  addressed  to 
him?.  The  same  Mr.  Graves  who  is  always  in  black — always  la¬ 
menting  his  ill  fortune  and  his  sainted  Maria,  who  led  him  the  life 
of  a  dog? 

Sir  J.  The  very  same.  His  liveries  are  black;  his  carriage  is 
black;  he  always  rides  a  black  galloway,  and,  faith,  if  he  ever  marry 
again,  I  think  he  will  show  his  respect  to  the  sainted  Maria  by  mar¬ 
rying  a  black  woman. 

Lady  F.  Ha!  ha!  we  shall  see.  (Aside.)  Poor  Graves;  I  always 
liked  him.  He  made  an  excellent  husband. 

Enter  Evelyn,  seats  himself  R.  C.,  and  takes  up  a  book  unobserved. 

Sir  J.  What  a  crowd  of  relations  this  will  brings  to  light.  Mr. 
Stout,  the  political  economist,  Lord  Glossmore — 

Lady  F.  Whose  grandfather  kept  a  pawnbroker’s  shop,  and  who, 
accordingly,  entertains  the  profoundest  contempt  for  everything 
popular,  parvenu  and  plebeian. 

Sir  J.  Sir  Frederick  Blount — 

Lady  F.  Sir  Fwedewick  Blount,  you  mean,  who  objects  to  the 
letter  R  as  being  too  trough,  and  therefore  d'trops  its  acquaintance; 
one  of  the  new  class  of  prudent  young  gentlemen,  who,  not  having 
spirits  and  constitution  for  the  hardy  excesses  of  their  predecessors, 
entrench  themselves  in  the  dignity  of  a  lady-like  languor.  A  man 
of  fashion  in  the  last  century  was  riotous  and  thoughtless;  in  this  he 
is  tranquil  and  egotistical.  He  never  does  anything  that  is  silly,  or 
says  anything  that  is  wise.  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear;  I  believe 
Sir  Frederick  is  an  admirer  of  yours.  Then,  too,  out*  poor  cousin, 
the  scholar — oh;  Mr.  Evelyn,  there  you  are!  (Crosses  to  L.  corner.) 

Sir  J.  Evelyn.  The  very  person  1  wanted.  Where  have  you 
been  all  day?  Have  you  seen  to  those  papers? — have  you  written  my 
epitaph  on  poor  Mordaunt— Latin,  you  know? — have  .you  reported 
my  speech  at  Exeter  Hall? — have  you  looked  out  the  debates  on  the 
customs? — and,  oh,  have  you  mended  up  all  the  old  pens  in  the  study? 

Geo.  And  have  you  brought  me  the  black  lloss  silk? — have  you 
been  to  Storr’s  for  my  ring? — and,  as  we  cannot  go  out  on  this  mel¬ 
ancholy  occasion,  did  you  call  at  Hookham’s  for  the  last  II.  B.  and 
the  Comic  Annual? 

Eve.  (Always  reading.)  Certainly,  Paley  is  right  upon  that  point; 
for,  put  the  syllogism  thus— (looking  up)  Ma’am — Sir— Miss  Vesey — 
you  want  something  of  me?  Paley  observes,  that  to  assist  even  the 
undeserving  tends  to  the  better  regulation  of  our  charitable  feelings 
—no  apologies — I  am  quite  at  your  service. 

Sir  J.  Now,  he’s  in  one  of  his  humors. 

Lady  F.  You  allow  him  strange  liberties,  Sir  John. 

Eve.  You  will  be  the  less  surprised  at  that,  madam,  when  I  in¬ 
form  you  that  Sir  John  allows  me  nothing  else.  I  am  now  about  to 
draw  on  his  benevolence. 


8 


MONEY. 


Lady  P.  I  bog  your  pardon,  sir,  and  like  your  spirit.  Sir  John, 
I’m  in  the  way,  I  see;  for  I  know  your  benevolence  is  so  delicate  that 
you  never  allow  any  one  to  detect  it.  {Walks  aside  a  little ,  L.) 

Eve.  I  could  not  do  your  commissions  to-day.  I  have  been  to 
visit  a  poor  woman  who  was  my  nurse  and  mother’s  last  friend. 
She  is  very  poor,  very  sick — dying — and  she  owes  six  months'! 
rent.  \ 

Sir  J.  You  know  I  should  be  most  happy  to  do  .anything  for 
yourself.  But  the  nurse — (aside)  some  people’s  nurses  are  always  ill , j 
There  are  so  many  impostors  about — we’ll  talk  of  it  to-morrow.j 
This  most  mournful  occasion  takes  up  all  my  attention.  (Looking 
at  his  watch.)  Bless  me,  so  late!  I’ve  letters  to  write,  and — none  of' 
the  pens  are  mended.  ( Exit  11.) 

Geo.  ( Taking  out  her  purse.)  I  think  I  will  give  it  to  him.t 
And  yet,  if  I  don’t  get  the  fortune  after  all.  Papa  allows  me  so; 
little.  Then  I  must  have  those  ear-rings.  (Puts  up  the  purse.)  Mr.' 
Evelyn,  what  is  the  address  of  your  nurse? 

Eve.  ( Writes  and  gives  it.)  She  has  a  good  heart,  with  all  her 
foibles.  Ah,  Miss  Yesey,  if  that  poor  woman  had  not  closed  the 
eyes  of  my  lost  mother,  Alfred  Evelyn  had  not  been  this  beggar  to 
your  father.  (Clara  looks  over  the  address.) 

Geo.  I  will  certainly  attend  to  it  (aside)  if  I  get  the  fortune. 

Sir  J.  (Calling  without.)  Georgy,  I  say. 

Geo.  Yes,  papa.  (Exit  R.) 

Evelyn  has  seated  himself  again  at  the  table  li.  and  leans  his  face  on 

his  hands. 

Clara.  His  noble  spirit  bowed  to  this!  Ah,  at  least  here  I  may 
give  him  comfort.  (Sits  down  to  write.)  But  he  will  recognize  my 
hand. 

Lady  F.  (Looking  over  her  shoulder.)  What  bill  are  paying,  Clara? 
Putting  up  a  bank  note? 

Clara.  Hush!  Oh,  Lady  Franklin,  you  are  the  kindest  of  human 
beings.  This  is  for  a  poor  person.  I  would  not  have  her  know 
whence  it  came,  or  she  would  refuse  it.  Would  you? — No,  he  knows 
her  handwriting  also. 

Lady  F.  Will  I — what?  give  the  money  myself?  With  pleasure. 
Poor  Clara — why  this  covers  all  your  savings.  And  I  am  so  rich. 

Clara.  Nay,  I  would  wish  to  do  all  myself.  It  is  a  pride — a 
duty — it  is  a  joy.  And  I  have  so  few  joys.  But  hush! — this  way. 

( They  retire  into  the  inner  room  and  converse  in  dumb  show.) 

Eve.  And  thus  must  I  grind  out  my  life  forever.  I  am  ambitious, 
and  poverty  drags  me  down.  I  have  learning,  and  poverty  makes 
me  the  drudge  of  fools.  I  love,  and  poverty  stands  like  a  specter 
before  the  altar.  But,  no — if,  as  I  believe,  I  am  but  loved  again,  I 
will — will — what?  Turn  opium  eater,  and  dream  of  the  Eden  I  may 
never  enter! 

Lady  F.  (To  Clara.)  Yes,  1  will  get  my  maid  to  copy  and  direct 
this.  She  writes  well,  and  her  hand  will  never  be  discovered.  I  will 
have  it  done  and  sent  instantly.  (Exit  li.) 


MONEY. 


9 


Clara,  advances  to  the  front  of  the  stage  and  seats  herself;  Evelyn 
reading.  Enter  Sir  Frederick  Blount,  R .  G. 

Blount.  No  one  in  the  woom — oh,  Miss  Douglas!  Pway,  don’t 
let  me  disturb  you.  Where  is  Miss  Vesey — Georgina.  ( Taking 
Clara’s  chair  as  she  rises.) 

Eve.  ( Looking  up,  gives  Clara  a  chair  and  re  seats  himself— aside.) 

Insolent  puppy! 

Clara.  Shall  I  tell  her  you  are  here,  Sir  Frederick? 

Blount  Not  for  the  world.  Yewy  pwetty  girl  this  companion. 
Clara.  What  did  you  think  of  the  panorama  the  other  day, 
Cousin  Evelyn  ? 

Eve.  {Heading.) 

“I  cannot  talk  with  civet  in  the  room, 

A  fine  puss  gentleman  that’s  all  perfume.” 

Rather  good  lines  these. 

Blount.  Sir! 

Eve.  (Offering  the  book.)  Don’t  you  think  so?  Cowper. 

Blount.  (Declining  the  book.)  Cowper! 

Eve.  Cowper. 

Blount.  ( Shrugging  his  shoulders — to  Clara.)  Stwange  person, 
Mr.  Evelyn — quite  a  chawacter.  Indeed,  the  Panowama  gives  you 
no  idea  of  Naples.  A  delightful  place.  I  make  it  a  wule  to  go  there 
evewy  second  year.  I’m  vewy  fond  of  twaveling.  You’d  like 
Wome  (Rome).  Bad  inns,  vewy  fine  wuins;  gives  you  quite  a  taste 
for  that  sort  of  thing. 

Eve.  (Heading. ) 

‘‘How  much  a  dunce  that  has  been  sent  to  Rome 
Excels  a  dunce  that  has  been  kept  at  home.” 

Blount.  (Aside. )  That  fellow  Cowper  says  vewy  odd  things. 
Humph!  It  is  beneath  me  to  quawwel.  (Aloud.)  It  will  not  take 
long  to  wead  the  will,  I  suppose.  Poor  old  Mordaunt!  I  am  his  near¬ 
est  male  welation.  He  was  vewy  eccentwic.  (Draws  his  chair  nearer.) 
By  the  way,  Miss  Douglas,  did  you  wemark  my  cuwicle  (curricle)? 
It  is  bwinging  cuwicles  into  fashion.  I  should  be  most  happy  if 
you  would  allow  me  to  dwive  you  out.  Nay,  nay;  I  should,  upon  my 
word.  (Trying  to  take  her  hand.) 

Eve.  (Starting  up.)  A  wasp!  a  wasp!  Just  going  to  settle.  Take 
care  of  the  wasp,  Miss  Douglas. 

Blount.  A  wasp!  Where?  Don’t  bwing  it  this  way.  Some  people 
don’t  fhind  them.  I’ve  a  particular  dislike  to  wasps.  They  sting 

damnably. 

Eve.  I  beg  pardon!  it’s  only  a  gad-fly. 

Enter  Servant  R. 

Serv.  Sir  John  will  be  happy  to  see  you  in  his  study,  Sir  Fred¬ 
erick.  (Exit  servant.) 

Blount.  Yewy  well.  Upon  my  word,  there  is  something  vewy 
nice  about  this  girl.  To  be  sure,  I  love  Georgina;  but  if  this  one 


IO 


MONEY. 


would  take  a  fancy  to  me  ( thoughtfully ) — well,  I  don’t  see  what  harm 
it  could  do  me.  Au  plaisir!  ( Exit  R.) 

Eye.  Clara?  y 

Clara.  Cousin? 

Eve.  And  you,  too,  are  a  dependent! 

Clara.  But  on  Lady  Franklin,  who  seeks  to  make  me  forget  it. 

Eve.  Ay,  but  can  the  world  forget  it?  This  insolent  condescen¬ 
sion;  this  coxcombry  of  admiration,  more  galling  than  the  arrogance 
of  contempt.  Look  you  now.  Robe  Beauty  in  silk  and  cachemirie, 
hand  Virtue  into  her  chariot,  lackey  their  caprices,  wrap  them  from 
the  winds,  fence  them  round  with  a  golden  circle,  and  Virtue  and 
Beauty  are  as  goddesses,  both  to  peasant  and  to  prince,  Strip  them 
of  the  adjuncts,  see  Beauty  and  Virtue  poor,  dependent,  solitary, 
walking  the  world  defenceless;  oh,  then  the  devotion  changes  its 
character;  the  same  crowd  gather  eagerly  around — fools,  fops,  lib¬ 
ertines — not  to  worship  at  the  shrine,  but  to  sacrifice  the  victim. 

Clara.  My  cousin,  you  are  cruel. 

Eve.  Forgive  me.  There  is  something  when  a  man’s  heart  is 
better  than  his  fortunes  that  makes  even  affection  bitter. 

Clara.  I  can  smile  at  the  pointless  innocence — 

Eve.  Smile — and  he  took  your  hand.  Oh,  Clara,  you  know  not 
the  tortures  that  I  suffer  hourly!  When  others  approach  3'ou,  young, 
fair,  rich— the  sleek  darlings  of  the  world — I  accuse  you  of  your  very 
beauty;  I  writhe  beneath  every  smile  that  you  bestow.  (Clara 
about  to  speak.)  No,  speak  not.  My  heart  has  broken  its  silence, 
and  you  shall  hear  the  rest.  For  you  I  have  endured  the  weary 
bondage  of  this  house— the  fool’s  gibe,  the  hireling’s  sneer,  the 
bread,  purchased  by  toils,  that  should  have  led  to  loftier  ends.  Yes, 
to  see  you,  hear  you;  for  this — for  this  I  have  lingered,  suffered 
and  forborne.  Oh,  Clara,  we  are  orphans  both— friendless  both;  you 
are  all  in  the  world  to  me.  (She  turns  away.)  Turn  not  away.  My 
very  soul  speaks  in  these  words — I  love  you! 

Clara.  No,  Evelyn — Alfred — no!  Say  it  not — think  it  not.  It 
were  madness. 

Eve.  Madness!  Nay,  hear  me  yet.  I  am  poor,  penniless,  a  beg¬ 
gar  for  bread  to  a  dying  servant.  True.  But  I  have  a  heart  of  iron; 
1  have  knowledge,  patience,  health,  and  my  love  for  you  gives  me  at 
last  ambition.  1  have  trilled  with  my  own  energies  -till  now,  for  I 
despised  all  things  till  I  loved  thee.  With  you  to  toil  for,  your  step 
to  support,  your  path  to  smooth,  and  I — I,  poor  Alfred  Evelyn, 
promise  at  last  to  win  for  you  even  fame  and  fortune.  I)o  not  with¬ 
draw  your  hand;  this  hand,  shall  it  not  be  mine?  (Kneels.) 

Clara.  Ah,  Evelyn!  Never — never! 

Eve.  Never!  (Rises.) 

Clara.  Forget  this  folly.  Our  union  is  impossible,  and  to  talk 
of  love  were  to  deceive  both. 

Eve.  (Bitterly .)  Because  I  am  poor! 

Claha.  And  1  too!  A  marriage  of  privation,  of  penury,  of  days 
that  dread  the  morrow.  I  have  seen  such  a  lot.  Never  return  to 
this  again.  (Crosses  to  R.) 

Eve.  Enough.  You  are  obeyed.  I  deceived  myself.  II a !  ha!  I 


MONEY. 


1 1 

fancied  that  I  too  was  loved.  I  whose  youth  is  already  half  gone 
with  care  and  toil;  whose  mind  is  soured,  whom  nobody  can  love, 
who  ought  to  have  loved  no  one. 

Clara.  {Aside.)  And  jf  it  were  only  I  to  suffer,  or  perhaps  to 
starve.  Oh,  what  shall  I  say ?  Evelyn — cousin! 

Eye.  Madam. 

Clara.  Alfred — I — I — 

Eve.  Reject  me! 

Clara.  Yes — it  is  past.  ( Exit  R.) 

Eve.  Let  me  think.  It  was  yesterday  her  hand  trembled  when 
mine  touched  it.  And  the  rose  I  gave  her.  Yes,  she  pressed  her 
lips  to  it  once  when  she  seemed  as  if  she  saw  me  not.  But  it  was  a 
trap — a  trick — for  I  was  as  poor  then  as  now.  This  will  be  a  jest 
for  them  all.  Well,  courage.  It  is  but  a  poor  heart  that  a  coquet’s 
contempt  can  break.  And  now  that  I  care  for  no  one,  the  world  is 
but  a  great  chess-board,  and  I  will  sit  down  in  earnest  and  play  with 
fortune.  ( Retires  up  to  the  table  R.) 

Enter  Lord  Glossmore,  preceded  by  servant  R. 

Serv.  I  will  tell  Sir  John,  my  lord.  {Exit  R.) 

Evelyn  takes  up  the  newspaper. 

Gloss.  The  Secretary.  Hum!  Fine  day,  sir.  Any  news  from 
the  east?  {To  Evelyn.) 

Eve.  (R.)  Yes;  all  the  wise  men  have  gone  back  there. 

Gloss.  Ha,  ha!  Not  all,  for  here  comes  Mr.  Stout,  the  great  polit¬ 
ical  economist. 

Enter  Stout  R. 

Stout.  (R.  C.)  Good  morning,  Glossmore. 

Gloss;  ( L .)  Glossmore! — the  parvenu. 

Stout.  Afraid  I  might  be  late — been  detained  at  the  Vestry. 
Astonishing  how  ignorant  the  English  poor  are!  took  me  an  hour  and 
a  half  to  beat  it  into  the  head  of  a  stupid  old  widow  with  nine  chil¬ 
dren  that  to  allow  her  three  shillings  a  week  was  against  all  the 
rules  of  public  morality... 

Eve.  (R.)  Excellent!  admirable!  Your  hand,  sir. 

Gloss.  What!  You  approve  such  doctrines,  Mr.  Evelyn?  Are  old 
women  only  fit  to  be  starved? 

Eve.  Starved!  Popular  delusion!  Observe,  my  Lord,  to  squander 
money  upon  those  who  starve  is  only  to  afford  encouragement  to 

starvation. 

Stout.  A  very  superior  person  that. 

Gloss.  Atrocious  principles!  Give  me  the  good  old  times,  when 
it  was  the  duty  of  the  rich  to  succor  the  distressed. 

Eve.  On  second  thoughts,  you  are  right,  my  Lord.  I,  too,  know 
a  poor  woman,  ill,  dying,  in  want.  Shall  she,  too,  perish? 

Gloss.  Perish!  horrible!  In  a  Christian  country.  Perish!  heaven 
forbid!  • 

Eve.  {Holding  out  his  hand.)  What,  then,  will  you  give  her  ? 

Y'Y  -y  y,  OF  iLL  LiB. 


12 


MONEY. 


Gloss.  Ehem!  Sir — the  parish  ought  to  give. 

Stout.  No — no — no!  Certainly  not!  (With  vehemence.) 


Enter  Sir  John,  Blount,  Lady  Franklin,  and  Georgina,  R. 


Sir  ,T.  How  d’ye  do?  Ah!  how  d’ye  do,  gentlemen?  This  is  a 
most  melancholy  meeting.  The  poor  deceased — what  a  man  he  was! 

Blount.  I  was  chwistened  Fwedewick  after  him.  tie  was  my 
first  cousin. 

Sir  J.  And  Georgina  his  own  niece — next  of  kin.  An  excellent 
man,  though  odd;  a  kind  heart,  but  no  liver.  I  sent  him  twice  a 
year  thirty  dozen  of  the  Cheltenham  waters.  It’s  a  comfort  to  re¬ 
flect  on  these  little  attentions  at  such  a  time. 

Stout.  And  I,  too,  sent  him  the  Parliamentary  debates  regularly, 
bound  in  calf.  He  was  my  second  cousin — sensible  man — and  a  fol¬ 
lower  of  Malthus;  never  married  to  increase  the  surplus  population 
and  fritter  away  his  money  on  his  own  children.  And  now  — 

Eye.  He  reaps  the  benefit  of  celibacy  in  the  prospective  grati¬ 
tude  of  every  cousin  he  has  in  the  world. 

Lady  F.  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

Sir  J.  Hush!  hush!  decency,  Lady  Franklin;  decency. 


Enter  Servant  R. 

Serv.  Mr.  Graves — Mr.  Sharp. 

SirJ.  Oh,  here’s  Mr.  Graves;  that’s  Sharp,  the  lawyer,  who 
brought  the  will  from  Calcutta. 

Enter  Graves  and  Siiarp  R. 

( Chorus  of  Sir  John,  Glossmore,  Blount,  Stout.)  Ah,  sir— ah, 
Mr.  Graves!  (Georgina  holds  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes.) 

Sir  J.  A  sad  occasion. 

Graves.  But  everything  in  life  is  sad.  Be  comforted,  Miss 
Vesey.  True,  you  have  lost  an  uncle;  but  I — I  have  lost  a  wife. 
Such  a  wife — the  first  of  her  sex — and  the  second  cousin  of  the 
defunct.  Excuse  me,  Sir  John;  at  the  sight  of  your  mourning  my 
wounds  bleed  afresh.  ( Servants  hand  rouiid  wine  and  sandieiches.) 

Sir  ,T.  Take  some  refreshment — a  glass  of  wine. 

Graves.  Thank  you.  Very  fine  sherry.  My  poor  sainted  Maria! 
Sherry  was  her  wine.  Everything  reminds  me  of  Maria.  Ah,  Lady 
Franklin,  you  knew  her.  Nothing  in  life  can  charm  me  now. 
(Aside.)  #  A  monstrous  fine  woman  that. 

Sir  J.  And  now  to  business.  Evelyn,  you  may  retire. 

Sharp.  (Looking  at  his  notes.)  Evelyn — any  relation  to  Alfred 
Evelyn? 

Eve.  The  same. 

Sharp.  Cousin  to  the  deceased,  seven  times  removed.  Be  seated, 
sir.  There  may  be  some  legacy,  though  trifling.  All  the  relations, 
however  distant,  should  be  present. 

Lady  F.  Then  Clara  is  related;  I  will  go  for  her.  (Exit  R.) 

Geor.  Ah,  Mr.  Evelyn,  I  hope  you  will  come  in  for  something — a 
few  hundreds,  or  even  more. 


MONEY. 


13 


Sir  J.  Silence!  Hush!  Wugh!  ugli!  Attention. 

While  the  lawyer  opens  the  will,  re-enter  Lady  Franklin  and  Clara. 

Sharp.  The  will  is  very  short,  being  all  personal  property.  He 
was  a  man  that  always  came  to  the  point. 

Sir  J.  I  wish  there  were  more  like  him.  ( Groans  and  shakes  his 
head.  Chorud  groans  and  shake  their  heads.) 

Sharp.  {Reading .)  “I,  Frederick  James  Mordaunt,  of  Calcutta, 

being  at  the  present  date  of  sound  mind,  though  infirm  body,  do 
hereby  give,  will  and  bequeath — imprimis,  to  my  second  cousin, 
Benjamin  Stout,  Esq.,  of  Pall  Mall,  London  {chorus  exhibit  lively  emo¬ 
tion)  being  the  value  of  the  Parliamentary  debates,  with  which  he 
has  been  pleased  to  trouble  me  for  some  time  past — deducting  the 
carriage  thereof,  which  he  always  forgot  to  pay — the  sum  of  14?. 
2s.  4 d.  {Chorus  breathe  more  'freely .) 

Stout.  Eh!  what!  14?.?  Oh,  hang  the  old  miser! 

Sir  J.  Decency — decency!  Proceed,  sir. 

Sharp.  “Item — To  Sir  Frederick  Blount,  Baronet,  my  nearest 
male  relative — {chorus  exhibit  lively  emotion) — 

Blount.  Poor  old  boy!  (Georgina  puts  her  arm  over  Blount’s 
chair. ) 

Sharp.  “Being,  as  I  am  informed,  the  best  dressed  young  gen¬ 
tleman  in  London,  and  in  testimony  to  the  only  merit  I  ever  heard 
he  possessed,  the  sum  of  500?.  to  buy  a  dressing-case.  {Chorus 
breathe  more  freely ;  Georgina  catches  her  father's  eye  and  removes 

her  arm.) 

Blount.  {Laughing  confusedly.)  Ha!  ha!  ha!  Yewy  poor  wit — 
low — vewy — vewy  low. 

Sir  J.  Silence,  now,  will  you? 

Sharp.  “Item — To  Charles  Lord  Glossmore — who  asserts  that  he 
is  my  relation — my  collection  of  dried  butterflies,  and  the  pedigree 
of  the  Mordaunts  from  the  reign  of  King  John.”  {Chorus  as  before.) 

Gloss.  Butterflies! — pedigree!— I  disown  the  plebeian! 

Sir  J.  {Angrily.)  Upon  my  word,  this  is  too  revolting!  Decency 
— go  on. 

Sharp.  “Item — To  Sir  John  Vesey,  Baron,  Knight  of  the  Guelph, 
F.  R.  S.,  F.  S.  A.,  etc.” — {Chorus  as  before.) 

Sir  J.  Hush!  Now  it  is  really  interesting! 

Sharp.  “Who  married  my  sister,  and  who  sends  me  every  year 
the  Cheltenham  waters,  which  nearly  gave  me  my  death,  I  bequeath 
the  empty  bottles.” 

Sir  J.  Why,  the  ungrateful,  rascally,  old — 

Chorus.  Decency,  Sir  John — decency! 

Sharp.  “Item — To  Henry  Graves,  Esq.,  of  the  Albany” — {Chorus 
as  before.) 

Graves.  Pooh,  gentlemen — my  usual  luck — not  even  a  ring,  I 
dare  swear! 

Sharp.  “The  sum  of  £5,000  in  the  three  per  cents.” 

Lady  F.  I  wish  you  joy. 

Graves.  Joy — pooh!  three  per  cents!  Funds  sure  to  go!  Had  it 
been  land  now — though  only  an  acre — just  like  my  luck. 


14 


MONEY. 


•  ;  1 
■  I 

SnARP.  “Item — To  my  niece,  Georgina  Vesey” — ( Chorus  as  before.) 

Sir  J.  Ah,  now  it  comes.! 

Sharp.  “The  sum  of  £10,000  India  stock,  being,  with  her  father’s 
reputed  savings,  as  much  as  a  single  woman  ought  to  possess. 

Sir  J.  And  what  the  devil,  then,  does  the  old  fool  do  with  all  his 
money  ? 

Chorus.  Really,  Sir  John,  this  is  too  revolting.  Decency!  hush! 

Sharp.  “And,  with  the  aforesaid  legacies  and  exceptions,  I  do 
will  and  bequeath  the  whole  of  my  fortune,  in  India  stock,  bonds, 
exchequer  bills,  three  per  cents.,  consols,  and  in  the  bank  of  Cal¬ 
cutta  (constituting  him  hereby  sole  residuary  legatee  and  joint  exec¬ 
utor  with  the  aforesaid  Henry  Graves,  Esq.),  to  Alfred  Evelyn,  now 
or  formerly  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge — ( universal  excitement) — 
being,  I  am  told,  an  oddity  like  myself — the  only  one  of  my  relations 
who  never  fawned  on  me,  and  who,  having  known  privation,  may  the 
better  employ  wealth.”  ( All  rise.)  And  now,  sir,  I  have  only  to 
wish  you  joy,  and  give  you  this  letter  from  the  deceased.  I  believe 
it  is  important.  (Gives  letter  to  Evelyn.) 

Eve.  (Crossing  over  to  Clara.)  Ah,  Clara,  if  you  had  but  loved 
me! 

Clara.  (Turning  away.)  And  his  wealth,  even  more  than  pov¬ 
erty,  separates  us  forever.  (All  surround  Evelyn  with  congrat¬ 
ulations.) 

Sir  J.  (To  Georgina.)  Go,  child— put  a  good  face  on  it — he’s  an 
immense  match.  My  dear  fellow,  I  wish  you  joy.  You  are  a  great 
man  now — a  very  great  man! 

Eve.  (Aside.)  And  her  voice  alone  is  silent. 

Gloss.  If  I  can  be  of  any  use  to  you — 

Stout.  Or  I,  sir — 

Blount.  Or  I?  Shall  I  put  you  up  at  the  clubs? 

Sharp.  You  will  want  a  man  of  business.  I  transacted  all  Mr. 
Mordaunt’s  atfairs. 

Sir  J.  Tush,  tush!  Mr.  Evelyn  is  at  home  here.  Always  looked 
on  him  as  a  son.  Nothing  in  the  world  we  would  not  do  for  him — 
nothing. 

Eve.  Lend  me  £10  for  my  old  nurse.  (Chorus  jput  their  hands  into 
their  pockets.) 


MONEY. 


15 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I. — An  ante-room  in  Evelyn’s  new  house;  at  one  corner ,  behind 
a  large  screen ,  Mr.  Siiarp,  writing  at  a  desk ,  books  and  'parchments 
before  him.  Mr.  Crtmson,  the  portrait  painter;  Mr.  Grab,  the  pub¬ 
lisher;  Mr.  Tabouret,  the  upholsterer;  Mr.  Patent,  the  coach- 
maker,  and  Mr.  Frantz,  the  tailor.  Servants  in  livery  cross  to  and 
fro  the  stage. 

*Pat.  (To  Frantz,  showing  a  draicing.)  Yes,  sir!  this  is  the  Eve¬ 
lyn  vis-a-vis.  No  one  more  the  fashion  than  Mr.  Evelyn.  Money 
makes  the  man,  sir. 

*Frantz.  But  de  tailor,  de  schneider,  make  de  gentleman;  where 
de  faders  and  de  mutters  make  only  de  ugly  little  naked  boys. 

Door  at  the  back  thrown  open.  Eater  Evelyn. 

Eve.  A  levee,  as  usual.  Good  day.  Ah,  Tabouret,  your  designs 
for  the  draperies;  very  well.  And  what  do  you  want,  Mr.  Crimson? 

*Crim.  Sir,  if  you’d  let  me  take  your  portrait  it  would  make  my 
fortune.  Every  one  says  you’re  the  finest  judge  of  paintings. 

Eve.  Of  paintings!  paintings!  Are  you  sure  I’m  a  judge  of 
paintings? 

*Crim.  Oh,  sir,  didn’t  you  buy  the  great  Corregio  for  ,£4,000? 
Eve.  True — I  see.  So  ^4,000  makes  me  an  excellent  judge  of 
paintings.  I’ll  call  on  you,  Mr.  Crimson.  Good  day.  Mr.  Grab — 
oh,  you’re  the  publisher  who  once  refused  me  £5  for  my  poem.  You 
are  right;  it  was  sad  doggerel. 

*Grab.  Doggerel!  Mr.  Evelyn,  it  was  sublime!  But  times  were 
bad,  then. 

Eve.  Very  bad  times  with  me. 

*Grab.  But  now,  sir,  if  you  give  me  the  preference  I’ll  push  it, 
sir — I’ll  push  it.  I  only  publish  for  poets  in  high  life,  sir;  and  a 
gentleman  of  your  station  ought  to  be  pushed — 50(V.  for  the  poem, 

sir. 

Eve.  500£.  when  I  don’t  \vant  it,  where  51.  once  would  have 
seemed  a  fortune. 

“Now  I  am  rich  what  value  in  the  lines; 

How  the  wit  brightens — how  the  sense  refines!” 

Turns  to  the  rest ,  who  surround  him. 

*Pat.  ( Shoicing  drawing .)  The  Evelyn  vis-a-vis! 

*  Frantz.  ( Opening  his  bundle  and  with  dignity.)  Sare,  I  have 
brought  de  coat — de  great  Evelyn  coat. 

Eve.  Oh,  go  to — that  is,  go  home!  Make  me  as  celebrated  for  vis- 
a-vis,  salvers,  furniture,  and  coats,  as  I  already  am  for  painting, 
and  shortly  shall  be  for  poetry.  I  resign  myself  to  you — go!  ( Exeunt 
Patent  and  others.) 


♦Scenes  containing  these  characters  are  usually  omitted  in  representation. 


1 6 


MONEY. 


Enter  Stout  II. 

Eve.  Stout,  you  look  heated. 

Stout.  I  hear  you  have  just  bought  the  great  Groginhole 
property. 

Eye.  It  is  true.  Sharp  says  it’s  a  bargain. 

Stout.  Well,  my  dear  friend  Hopkins,  member  for  Groginhole, 
can’t  live  another  month.  But  the  interests  of  mankind  forbid  re¬ 
gret  for  individuals.  The  patriot  Popkins  intends  to  start  for  the 
boro’  the  instant  Hopkins  is  dead.  Your  interest  will  secure  his 
election.  Now  is  your  time.  Put  yourself  forward  in  the  march  of 
enlightenment.  By  all  that  is  bigoted,  here  tomes  Glossmore! 
( Crosses  to  L.) 

Enter  Glossmore  R.;  Sharp  still  at  his  desk. 

Gloss.  So  lucky  to  find  you  at  home.  Hopkins,  of  Groginhole, 
is  not  long  for  this  world.  Popkins,  the  brewer,  is  already  canvass¬ 
ing  underhand— so  very  ungentlemanly  like.  Keep  your  interest 
for  young  Lord  Cipher,  a  valuable  candidate.  This  is  an  awful  mo¬ 
ment.  The  constitution  depends  on  his  return.  Vote  for  Cipher. 

Stout.  Popkins  is  your  man. 

Eve.  (Musingly.)  Cipher  and  Popkins — Popkins  ’  and  Cipher. 
Enlightenment  and  Popkins — Cipher  and  the  constitution.  I  am 
puzzled.  Stout,  1  am  not  known  at  Groginhole. 

Stout.  Your  property's  known  there. 

Eve.  But  purity  of  election — independence  of  votes— 

Stout.  To  be  sure.  Cipher  bribes  abominably.  Frustrate  his 
schemes,  preserve  the  liberties  of  the  borough — turn  every  man  out 
of  his  house  who  votes  against  enlightenment  and  Popkins. 

Eve.  Right!  Down  with  those  who  take  the  liberty  to  admire 
any  liberty  except  our  liberty.  That  is  liberty. 

Gloss.  Cipher  has  a  stake  in  the  country — will  have  50,000?.  a 
year.  Cipher  will  never  give  a  vote  without  considering  beforehand 
how  people  of  50,000?.  a  year  will  be  affected  by  the  motion. 

Eye.  Right,  for  as  without  law  there  would  be  no  property,  so  to 
be  the  law  for  property  is  the  only  property  of  law.  That  is  law. 

Stout.  Popkins  is  all  for  economy.  There’s  a  sad  waste  of  the 
public  money.  They  give  the  Speaker  5,000?.  a  year,  when  I’ve  a 
brother-in-law  who  takes  the  chair  at  the  vestry,  and  who  assures 
me  confidentially  he’d  consent  to  be  Speaker  for  half  the  money. 

Gloss.  Enough,  Mr.  Stout.  Mr.  Evelyn  has  too  much  at  stake 
for  a  leveler. 

Stout.  And  too  much  sense  for  a  bigot. 

Eve.  Mr.  Evelyn  has  no  politics  at  all.  Did  you  ever  play  at 
battledore! 

Both.  Battledore? 

Eve.  Battledore.  That  is,  a  contest  between  two  parties.  Both 
parties  knock  about  something  with  singular  skill;  something  is 
kept  up — high  — Jo w— here  —  there  —  everywhere  —  nowhere.  How 
grave  are  the  players!  how  anxious  the  bystanders!  how  noisy  the 
battledores!  But  when  this  something  falls  to  the  ground,  only  fancy 


MONEY.  1 7 

— it’s  nothing  but  cork  and  feather!  Go,  and  play  by  yourselves; 
I’m  no  hand  at  it.  ( Grosses  L .) 

Stout.  (Aside.)  Sad  ignorance — aristocrat! 

Gloss.  Heartless  principles — parvenu! 

Stout.  Then  you  don’t  go  against  us?  I’ll  bring  Popkins  to¬ 
morrow. 

Gloss.  Keep  yourself  free  till  I  present  Cipher  to  you. 

Stout.  I  must  go  to  inquire  after  Hopkins.  The  return  of  Hop¬ 
kins  will  be  an  era  in  history.  (Exit  R.) 

Gloss.  I  must  be  off  to  the  club.  The  eyes  of  the  country  are 
upon  Groginhole.  If  Cipher  fail,  the  constitution  is  gone.  (Exit  R  ) 

Eve.  (At  table  R.)  Sharp,  come  here.  (Sharp  advances.)  Let 
me  look  at  3rou.  You  are  my  agent,  my  lawyer,  my  man  of  business. 
I  believe  you  honest;  but  what  is  honesty?  Where  does  it  exist?  In 
what  part  of  us? 

Sharp.  In  the  heart,  I  suppose. 

Eve.  Mr.  Sharp,  it  exists  in  the  pocket.  Observe,  I  lay  this 
piece  of  yellow  earth  on  the  table.  I  contemplate  you  both — the 
man  there,  the  gold  here.  Now  there  is  many  a  man  in  yonder 
streets,  honest  as  you  are,  who  moves,  thinks,  feels  and  reasons  as 
well  as  we  do;  excellent  in  form,  imperishable  in  soul,  who,  if  his 
pockets  were  three  days  empty,  would  sell  thought,  reason,  body, 
and  soul,  too,  for  that  little  coin.  Is  that  the  fault  of  the  man?  No; 
it  is  the  fault  of  mankind.  God  made  man.  Sir,  behold  what  man¬ 
kind  have  made  a  god.  When  I  was  poor  I  hated  the  world.  Now 
I  am  rich  I  despise  it.  (Rises.)  Fools — knaves — hypocrites!  By  the 
by,  Sharp,  send  100£.  to  the  poor  bricklayer  whose  house  was  burnt 
down  yesterday. 

Enter  Graves  R. 

Ah,  Graves,  my  dear  friend,  what  a  world  this  is! 

Graves.  It  is  an  atrocious  world.  It  will  be  set  on  fire  one  day 
—and  that’s  some  comfort. 

Eve.  Every  hour  brings  its  gloomy  lesson — the  temper  sours — 
the  affections  wither — the  heart  hardens  into  stone!  Zounds!  Sharp, 
what  do  you  stand  gaping  there  for?  Have  you  no  bowels?  Why 
don’t  you  go  and  see  to  the  bricklayer?  (Exit  Sharp  R.) 

Eve.  Graves,  of  all  my  new  friends — and  their  name  is  legion — 
you  are  the  only  one  I  esteem.  There  is  sympathy  between  us;  we 
take  the  same  views  of  life.  I  am  cordially  glad  to  see  you. 

Graves.  (Groaning.)  Ah,  why  should  you  be  glad  to  see  a  man 
so  miserable? 

Eve.  (Sighs.)  Because  I  am  miserable  myself. 

Graves.  You?  Pshaw!  You  have  not  been  condemned  to  lose  a 

wife. 

Eve.  But,  plague  on  if,  man,  I  may  be  condemned  to  take  one. 
Sit  down  and  listen.  (They  seat  themselves.)  I  want  a  confidant. 
Left  fatherless  when  yet  a  boy,  my  poor  mother  grudged  herself  food 
to  give  me  education.  Some  one  had  told  her  that  learning  was  bet¬ 
ter  than  house  and  land — that’s  a  lie,  Graves. 

Graves.  A  scandalous  lie,  Evelyn. 


1 8 


MONEY. 


Eye.  On  the  strength  of  that  lie  I  was  put  to  school — sent  to  a 
college,  a  sizar.  Do  you  know  what  a  sizar  is?  In  pride  he  is  a  gen¬ 
tleman,  in  knowledge  a  scholar,  and  he  crawls  about,  amidst  gen¬ 
tlemen  and  scholars,  with  the  liver}'  of  a  pauper  on  his  back.  I 
carried  oiF  the  great  prizes,  I  became  distinguished;  I  looked  to  a 
high  degree,  leading  to  a  fellowship — that  is,  an  independence  for 
myself,  a  home  for  my  mother.  One  day  a  young  lord  insulted  me 
— I  retorted — he  struck  me — refused  apology — refused  redress.  I 
was  a  sizar — a  Pariah — a  thing  to  be  struck.  Sir,  I  was  at  least  a 
man,  and  I  horsewhipped  him  in  the  hall  before  the  eyes  of  the 
whole  college.  A  few  days,  and  the  lord’s  chastisement  was  for¬ 
gotten.  The  next  da}'  the  sizar  was  expelled — the  career  of  a  life 
blasted.  That  is  the  dilference  between  rich  and  poor;  it  takes  a 
whirlwind  to  move  the  one — a  breath  may  uproot  the  other.  I  came 
to  London.  As  long  as  my  mother  lived  I  had  one  to  toil  for;  and  I 
did  toil — did  hope — did  struggle  to  be  something  yet.  She  died,  and 
then,  somehow,  my  spirit  broke — I  resigned  my  spirit  to  my  fate — I 
ceased  to  care  what  became  of  me.  At  last  I  submitted  to  be  the 
poor  relation — the  hanger-on  and  gentleman  lackey  of  Sir  John 
Yesey.  But  I  had  an  object  in  that;  there  was  one  in  that  house 
whom  I  had  loved  at  the  first  sight. 

Grates.  And  were  you  loved  again? 

Eve.  I  fancied  it,  and  was  deceived.  Not  an  hour  before  I  inher¬ 
ited  this  mighty  wealth  I  confessed  my  love  and  was  rejected  because 
I  was  poor.  Now,  mark;  you  remember  the  letter  which  Sharp 
gave  me  when  the  will  was  read? 

Graves.  Perfectly.  What  were  the  contents? 

Eve.  After  hints,  cautions  and  admonitions — half  in  irony, 
half  in  earnest  —  (ah,  poor  Mordaunt  had  known  the  world)  —  it 
proceeded — but  I’ll  read  it  to  you:  “Having  selected  you  as  my 
heir,  because  I  think  money  a  trust  to  be  placed  where  it  seems 
likely  to  be  best  employed,  I  now — not  impose  a  condition,  but 
ask  a  favor.  If  you  had  formed  no  other  and  insuperable  attach¬ 
ment,  I  could  wish  to  suggest  your  choice.  My  two  nearest  relations 
are  my  niece,  Georgina,  and  my  third  cousin,  Clara  Douglas,  the 
daughter  of  a  once  dear  friend.  If  you  could  see  in  either  of  these 
one  whom  you  could  make  your  wife,  such  would  be  a  marriage 
that  if  I  lived  long  enough  to  return  to  England  I  would  seek  to 
bring  about  before  I  die.”  My  friend,  this  is  not  a  legal  condition; 
the  fortune  does  not  rest  on  it;  yet,  need  I  say  that  my  gratitude 
considers  it  a  moral  obligation?  Several  months  have  elapsed  since 
thus  called  upon.  I  ought  now  to  decide.  You  hear  the  names; 
Clara  Douglas  is  the  woman  who  rejected  me. 

Graves.  But  now  she  would  accept  you. 

Eve.  And  do  you  think  I  am  so  base  a  slave  to  passion  that  1 
would  owe  to  my  gold  what  was  denied  to  my  alfection  ? 

Graves.  But  you  must  choose  one  in  common  gratitude.  You 
ought  to  do  so — yes,  there  you  are  right. 

Eve.  Of  the  two,  then,  I  would  rather  marry  where  I  should 
exact  the  least.  A  marriage  to  which  each  can  bring  sober  esteem 
and  calm  regard  may  not  be  happiness,  but  it  may  be  content.  But 


MONEY. 


*9 


• 

to  marry  one  whom  you  could  adore,  and  whose  heart  is  closed  to 
you;  to  yearn  for  the  treasure,  and  only  to  claim  the  casket — to 
worship  the  statue  that  you  may  never  warm  to  life — oh!  such  a 
marriage  would  be  a  hell  the  more  terrible  because  paradise  was  in 
sight. 

Graves.  Georgina  is  pretty,  but  vain  and  frivolous.  {Aside.) 
But  he  has  no  right  to  be  fastidious;  he  has  never  known  Maria. 
{Aloud.)  Yes,  m}r  dear  friend,  now  I  think  on  it,  you  will  be  as 
wretched  as  myself.  When  you  are  married  we  will  mingle  our 
groans  together. 

Eye.  You  may  misjudge  Georgina.  She  may  have  a  nobler 
nature  than  appears  on  the  surface.  On  the  day,  but  before  the 
hour,  in  which  the  will  was  read,  a  letter  in  a  strange  or  disguised 
hand,  “from  an  unknown  friend  to  Alfred  Evelyn,’’  and  inclosing 
what  to  a  girl  would  have  been  a  considerable  sum,  was  sent  to  a 
poor  vyoman  for  whom  I  had  implored  charity,  and  whose  address  I 
had  given  only  to  Georgina. 

Graves.  Why  not  assure  yourself? 

Eve.  Because  I  have  not  dared.  For  sometimes,  against  my 
reason,  I  have  hoped  that  it  might  be  Clara.  {Taking  a  letter  from 
his  bosom  and  looking  at  it.)  No,  I  can’t  recognize  the  hand.  Graves, 
I  detest  that  girl.  {Rises.) 

Graves.  Who?  Georgina? 

Eve.  No;  but  I’ve  already,  thank  heaven,  taken  some  revenge 
upon  her.  Come  nearer.  ( Whispers:)  I’ve  bribed  Sharp  to  say  that 
Mordaunt’s  letter  to  me  contained  a  codicil  leaving  Clara  Douglas 
20,000£. 

Graves.  And  didn’t  he? 

Eve.  Not  a  farthing.  But  I’m  glad  of  it.  I’ve  paid  the  money; 
she’s  no  more  a  dependent.  No  one  can  insult  her  now.  She  owes 
it  all  to  me,  and  does  not  guess  it,  man,  does  not  guess.  Owes  it  to 
me,  whom  she  rejected;  me,  the  poor  scholar.  Ha!  ha!  there’s 
some  spite  in  that,  eh? 

Graves.  You’re  a  fine  fellow,  Evelyn,  and  we  understand  each 
other.  Perhaps  Clara  may  have  seen  the  address,  and  dictated  this 
letter  after  all. 

Eve.  Do  you  think  so?  I’ll  go  to  the  house  this  instant.  {R.) 

Craves.  Eh?  Humph!  Then  I’ll  go  with  you.  That  Lady 
Franklin  is  a  fine  woman.  If  she  were  not  so  gay,  I  think — I  could — 

Eve.  No,  no;  don’t  think  any  such  thing.  Women  are  even 
worse  than  men. 

Graves.  True;  to  love  is  a  boy’s  madness. 

Eve.  To  feel  is  to  suffer. 

Graves.  To  hope  is  to  be  deceived. 

Eve.  I  have  done  with  romance. 

Graves.  Mine  is  buried  with  Maria. 

Eve.  If  Clara  did  but  write  this! 

Graves.  Make  haste,  or  Lady  Franklin  will  be  out!  A  vale  of 
tears — a  vale  of  tears! 

Eve.  A  vale  of  tears,  indeed!  {Exeunt  R.) 


20 


MONEY. 


Re-enter  Graves  for  his  hat. 

Graves.  And  I  left  my  hat  behind  me.  Just  like  my  luck.  If  I 
had  been  bred  a  hatter,  little  boys  would  have  come  into  the  world 
without  heads.  ( Exit  R .) 

Scene  II. — Drawing-rooms  at  Sir  John  Vesey’s,  as  in  Scene  I,  Act  I. 

Enter  Lady  Franklin  and  Clara,  R.  G.,  laughing. 

Clara.  Dear  Lady  Franklin,  you  really  have  the  sweetest  temper. 

Lady  F.  ( R .)  I  hope  so,  for  it’s  the  most  becoming  thing  a 
woman  can  wear.  Think  of  that  when  you  marry.  Oh,  talking  of 
marriage,  I’ve  certainly  made  a  conquest  of  Mr.  Graves. 

Clara.  Mr.  (Graves!  I  thought  he  was  inconsolable. 

Lady  F.  For  his  sainted  Maria.  Poor  man!  not  contented  with 
plaguing  him  while  shelved,  she  must  needs  haunt  him  now  she  is 
dead. 

Clara.  But  why  does  he  regret  her? 

Lady  F.  Why?  Because  he  has  everything  to  make  him  happy. 
Easy  fortune,  good  health,  respectable  character.  And  since  it  is 
his  delight  to  be  miserable,  he  takes  the  only  excuse  the  world  will 
allow  him.  For  the  rest,  it’s  the  way  with  widowers;  that  is,  when¬ 
ever  they  mean  to  marry  again.  But,  my  dear  Clara,  you  seem 
absent — pale — unhappy — tears,  too. 

Clara.  No,  no — not  tears.  No! 

Lady  F.  Ever  since  Mr.  Mordaunt  left  }'ou  20,000£.  every  one 
admires  you.  Sir  Frederick  is  desperately  smitten. 

Clara.  ( With  disdain. )  Sir  Frederick. 

Lady  F.  Ah!  Clara,  be  comforted.  I  know  your  secret.  I  am 
certain  that  Evelyn  loves  you. 

Clara.  He  did — it  is  past  now.  He  misconceived  me  when  he 
was  poor;  and  now  he  is  rich,  it  is  not  for  me  to  explain. 

Lady  F.  My  dear  child,  happiness  is  too  rare  to  be  sacrificed  to  a 
scruple.  Why  does  he  come  here  so  often? 

Clara.  Perhaps  for  Georgina. 

Enter  Sir  John  R.  C.,  and  turns  over  the  books,  etc.,  on  the  table,  as  if 

to  look  for  the  newspaper . 

Lady  F.  Pooh!  Georgina  is  my  niece;  she  is  handsome  and  ac¬ 
complished,  but  her  father’s  worldliness  has  spoilt  her  nature.  She 
is  not  worthy  of  Evelyn.  Let  me  only  tell  him  that  you  dictated 
that  letter — that  you  sent  that  money  to  his  old  nurse.  Poor  Clara! 
It  was  3rour  little  all.  He  will  then  know,  at  least,  if  avarice  be 
your  sin. 

Clara.  He  would  have  guessed  it,  had  his  love  been  like  mine. 

Lady  S.  Guessed  it.  Nonsense!  The  handwriting  unknown  to 
him;  every  reason  to  think  it  came  from  Georgina. 

Sir  J.  (Aside  R — at  table.)  Hum!  came  from  Georgina. 

Lady  F.  Come,  let  me  tell  him  this .  I  know  the  effect  it  would 
have  on  his  choice 


MONEY. 


21 


Clara.  Choice!  Oh,  that  humiliating  word.  No,  Lady  Franklin, 

no.  Promise  me. 

Lady  F.  But — 

Clara.  No!  Promise — faithfully — sacredly,  I  have  refused  to 
share  his  poverty,  and  I  should  die  with  shame  if  he  thought  I  had 
now  grown  enamored  of  his  wealth.  My  kind  friend,  you  will  keep 
your  promise? 

Lady  F.  Yes,  since  it  must  be  so. 

Clara.  Thanks.  I — I — forgive  me,  I  am  not  well.  {Exit  R.) 

Lady  F.  What  fools  these  girls  are.  They  take  as  much  pains  to 
lose  a  husband  as  a  poor  widow  does  to  get  one. 

Sir  J.  Have  you  seen  the  Times  newspaper?  Where  the  deuce  is 
the  newspaper?  I  can’t  find  the  Times  newspaper. 

Lady  F.  I  think  it  is  in  my  room.  Shall  I  fetch  it? 

Sir  J.  My  dear  sister,  you’re  the  best  creature.  Do.  {Exit  Lady 
Frank.  R .)  Ugh!  You  unnatural  conspirator  against  your  own  fam¬ 
ily.  What  can  this  letter  be?  Ah!  I  recollect  something. 

Enter  Georgina  R.  C. 

Geo.  ( L .)  Papa,  I  want — 

Sir  J.  Yes,  I  know  what  you  want,  well  enough.  Tell  me — were 
you  aware  that  Clara  had  sent  money  to  that  old  nurse  Evelyn  bored 
us  about  the  day  of  the  will? 

Geo.  No.  He  gave  me  the  address,  and  I  promised,  if — 

Sir  J.  Gave  you  the  address?  That's  lucky.  Hush! 

Enter  Graves,  Evelyn  and  Servant  R. 

Serv.  Mr.  Graves — Mr.  Evelyn.  ( Exit  Servant  R.) 

Lady  F.  {Returning .)  Here  is  the  newspaper. 

Graves.  Aye;  read  the  newspapers.  They’ll  tell  you  what  this 
world  is  made  of.  Daily  calendars  of  roguer}T  and  woe.  Advertise¬ 
ments  from  quacks,  money  lenders,  cheap  warehouses,  and  spotted 
boys  with  two  heads.  Turn  to  the  other  column — police  reports, 
bankruptcies,  swindling,  forgery.  Turn  to  the  leading  article*  and 
your  hair  will  stand  on  end  at  the  horrible  wickedness  or  melan¬ 
choly  idiotism  of  that  half  of  the  population  who  think  differently 
from  yourself.  In  my  day  I  have  seen  already  eighteen  criseses,  six 
annihilations  of  agriculture  and  commerce,  four  overthrows  of  the 
church,  and  three  last,  final,  awful,  and  irremediable  destructions  of 
the  entire  constitution.  And  that’s  a  newspaper — a  newspaper — a 
newspaper! 

Lady  F.  {R.  G ’.)  Ha,  ha!  Your  usual  vein.  Always  so  amusing 
and  good  humored. 

Graves.  {Frowning  and  very  angry .)  Ma’am— good  humored! 

Lady  F.  Ah!  you  should  always  wear  that  agreeable  smile.  You 
look  so  much  younger — so  much  handsomer,  when  you  smile. 

Graves.  {Softened.)  Ma’am — a  charming  creature,  upon  my 
word.  {Aside.) 

Lady  F.  You  have  not  seen  the  last  H.  B.?  It  is  excellent.  I 
think  it  might  make  you  laugh.  But,  by-the-by,  I  don’t  think  you 

can  laugh. 


22 


MONEY. 


Grave  *9  Ma’am,  I  have  not  laughed  since  the  death  of  my 
sainted  Mu- 

Lady  F.  Ah!  and  that  spiteful  Sir  Frederick  says  you  never 
laugh  because — but  you’ll  be  angry? 

Graves.  Angry.  Pooh!  I  despise  Sir  Frederick  too  much  to  let 
anything  he  says  have  the  smallest  influence  over  me.  He  says  I 
don’t  laugh,  because — 

Lady  F.  You  have  lost  your  front  teeth. 

Graves.  Lost  my  front  teeth.  Upon  my  word!  Ha!  ha!  ha! 
That’s  too  good — capital!  Ha!  ha!  ha!  ( Laughing  from  ear  to 
ear.) 

Lady  F.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  {They  retire  to  the  table  in  the  inner  clraicing- 
room.) 

Eve.  ( Aside  at  II.  table.)  Of  course  Clara  will  not  appear.  Avoids 
me  as  usual.  But  what  do  I  care?  What  is  she  to  me?  Nothing. 
I’ll  swear  this  is  her  glove.  No  one  else  has  so  small  a  hand.  She’ll 
miss  it — so — so.  Nobody’s  looking;  I’ll  keep  it  just  to  vex  her. 

Sir  J.  ( To  Georgina.)  Yes,  yes;  leave  me  to  manage.  You 
took  his  portrait,  as  I  told  you. 

Geo.  Yes,  but  I  could  not  catch  the  expression.  I  got  Clara  to 
touch  it  up. 

Sir  J.  That  girl’s  always  in  the  way. 

Enter  Captain  Dudley  Smooth  II. 

Smooth.  Good  morning,  dear  John.  ‘Ah,  Miss  Vesey,  you  have 
no  idea  of  the  conquests  you  made  at  Almack’s  last  night 

Eve.  ( Examining  him  curiously  while  Smooth  is  talking  to  Geor¬ 
gina,  R.  at  table.)  And  that’s  the  celebrated  Dudley  Smooth. 

Sir  J.  (R.)  More  commonly  called  Deadly  Smooth.  The  finest 
player  at  whist,  ecarte,  billiards,  chess,  and  piquet,  between  this 
and  the  pyramids.  The  sweetest  manners.  Always  calls  you  by 
your  Christian  name.  But  take  care  how  you  play  cards  with 
him.  * 

Eve.  He  does  not  cheat,  1  suppose? 

Sir  J.  No.  But  he  always  wins.  He’s  an  uncommonly  clever 
fellow. 

Eve.  Clever?  Yes.  When  a  man  steals  a  loaf,  we  cry  down  the 
knavery.  When  a  man  diverts  his  neighbor’s  mill-stream  to  grind 
his  own  corn,  we  cry  up  the  cleverness.  And  every  one  courts  Cap¬ 
tain  Dudley  Smooth. 

SirJ.  Why,  who  could  offend  him?  The  best  bred,  civilest 
creature — and  a  dead  shot.  There  is  not  a  cleverer  man  in  the  three 
kingdoms. 

Eve.  A  study — a  study.  Let  me  examine  him.  Such  men  are 
living  satires  on  the  world. 

Smooth.  ( Passing  his  arm  caressingly  over  Sir  John’s  shoulder.) 
My  dear  John,  how  well  you  are  looking.  A  new  lease  of  life.  In¬ 
troduce  me  to  Mr.  Evelyn. 

Eve.  Sir,  it’s  an  honor  I’ve  long  ardently  desired.  ( Crosses  to  him. 
They  bow  and  shake  Jiands.) 


MONEY. 


23 


Enter  Sir  Frederick  Blount  E. 


Blount.  How  d’ye  do,  Sir  John.  Ah,  Evelyn,  I  wished  so  much 
to  see  you. 

Eye.  Ah! 

Blount.  A  little  this  way.  You  know,  perhaps,  that  I  once  paid 
my  addwesses  to  Miss  Yesey .  But  since  that  vewy  eccentwic  will 
Sir  John  has  shuffled  me  off,  and  hints  at  a  pwior  attachment  (aside) 
which  I  know  to  be  false. 

Eye.  ( Seeing  Clara.)  A  prior  attachment!  Ha!  Clara.  Well, 
well,  another  time,  my  dear  Blount. 


Enter  Clara  E. 


Blount.  Stay  a  moment.  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favor  with  re¬ 
gard  to  Miss  Douglas. 

Eye.  Miss  Douglas! 

Blount.'  Clawa  has20,00(Y.,  and  I  think  Clawa  always  liked  me  a 

little. 

Eve.  You!  I  dare  say  she  did. 

Blount.  It  is  whispered  about  that  you  mean  to  pwopose  to 
Georgina.  Nay,  Sir  John  more  than  hinted  that  was  her  pwior  at¬ 
tachment. 

Eve.  Indeed! 

Blount.  Now,  as  you  are  all  in  all  with  the  family,  if  you  could 
say  a  word  for  me  to  Miss  Douglas,  I  don’t  see  what  harm  it  could 
do  me.  ( Aside  )  I  will  punish  Georgina  for  her  pwerfidy. 

Eve.  ’Sdeath,  man!  Speak  for  yourself.  You  are  just  the  sort  of 
man  for  young  ladies  to  like.  They  understand  you.  You’re  of 
their  own  level.  Pshaw!  you’re  too  modest;  you  want  no  mediator. 

Blount.  My  dear  fellow,  you  Hatter  me.  I’m  well  enough  in  my 
way.  But  you,  you  know,  would  cawwv  evewything  before  you — 
you’re  so  confoundedly  wich. 

Eve.  ( Turning  to  Clara.)  Miss  Douglas,  what  do  you  think  of 
Sir  Frederick  Blount?  Observe  him.  He  is  well  dressed,  young, 
tolerably  handsome  (Blount  boioing)-  bows  with  an  air;  has  plenty 
of  small  talk — everything  to  captivate.  Yet  he  thinks  that  if  he 
and  I  were  suitors  to  the  same  lady,  I  should  be  more  successful 
because  I  am  richer.  What  say  you?  Is  love  an  auction,  and  do 
women’s  hearts  go  to  the  highest  bidder? 

Clara.  Their  hearts?  No. 

Eve.  But  their  hands — yes.  (She  turns  away .)  You  turn  away. 
Ah,  you  dare  not  answer  that  question. 

Geo.  (Aside.)  Sir  Frederick  flirting  with  Clara?  I’ll  punish  him 
for  his  perfidy,  You  are  the  last  person  to  talk  so,  Mr.  Evelyn — 
you,  whose  wealth  is  your  smallest  attraction — you,  whom  every  one 
admires;  so  witty,  such  taste;  such  talent.  Ah,  I  am  very  foolish! 

Sir  J.  (Clapping  him  on  the  shoulder.)  You  must  not  turn  my 
little  girl’s  head.  Oh,  you’re  a  sad  fellow!  Apropos,  1  must  show 
you  Georgina’s  last  drawings.  She  has  wonderfully  improved  since 
you  gave  her  lessons  in  perspective. 

Geo.  No,  papa — no.  Pray,  no!  Nay,  don’t! 


24 


MONEY. 


Sir  J.  Nonsense,  child.  It’s  very  odd,  but  she’s  more  afraid  of 
you  than  of  any  one. 

Smooth.  (T7#  Blount,  taking  snuff.)  He’s  an  excellent  father, 
our  dear  John,  and  supplies  the  place  of  a  mother  to  her.  ( Turns 
away  to  Lady  Franklin  and  Graves.) 

Evelyn  and  Georgina  seat  themselves  and  look  over  the  drawings;  Sir 

John  leans  over  them;  Sir  Frederick  converses  with  Clara;  Eve¬ 
lyn  watching  them. 

Eve.  Beautiful!  A  view  from  Tivoli.  (Death!  She  looks  down 
while  he  speaks  to  her!)  Is  there  not  a  little  fault  in  that  coloring? 
(She  positively  blushes.)  This  Jupiter  is  superb.  (What  a  d — d 
coxcomb  it  is!)  {Rising.)  Oh,  she  certainly  loves  him — T,  too,  can 
be  loved  elsewhere — I,  too,  can  see  smiles  and  blushes  on  the  face  of 
another. 

Geo.  Are  you  not  well? 

Eve.  I  beg  pardon.  Yes,  you  are  indeed  improved.  Ah,  who  so 
accomplished  as  Miss  Vesey?  ( Takes  up  the  drawings;  pays  her 
marked  attention  in  dumb  shoic.) 

Clara.  Yes,  Sir  Frederick,  the  concert  was  very  crowded.  (Ah,  I 
see  that  Georgina  consoles  him  for  the  past.  He  has  only  praises  for 
her,  nothing  but  taunts  for  me.) 

Blount.  I  wish  you  would  take  my  opewa  box  next  Saturday; 
’ tis  the  best  in  the  house.  I’m  not  wich,  but  I  spend  what  I  have 
on  myself.  I  make  a  point  to  have  evewything  the  best  in  a  quiet 
way.  Best  opewa  box,  best  dogs,  best  horses,  best  house  of  its 
kind.  I  want  nothing  to  complete  my  establishment  but  the  best 
wife. 

Clara.  {Abstractedly .)  That  will  come  in  good  time,  Sir  Frederick. 

Eve.  Georgina  refused  the  tr i tier — she  courts  him.  {Taking  up  a 
portrait.)  Why,  what  is  this?  My  own — 

Geo.  You  must  not  look  at  that — you  must  not,  indeed.  I  did 
not  know  it  was  there. 

Sir  J.  Your  own  portrait,  Evelyn!  Why,  child,  I  was  not  aware 
you  took  likenesses!  That’s  something  new.  Upon  my  word  it’s  a 
strong  resemblance. 

Geo.  Oh,  no,  it  does  not  do  him  justice.  Give  it  to  me.  I  will 
tear  it.  {Aside.)  That  odious  Sir  Frederick! 

Eve.  Nay,  you  shall  not. 

Clara.  (So — so — he  loves  her  then!  Misery — misery!  But  he  shall 
not  perceive  it.  No — no  -  I  can  be  proud,  too.)  Ha!  ha!  Sir  Fred¬ 
erick —  excellent  —  excellent  —  you  are  so  entertaining.  Ha!  ha! 
{Laughs  hysterically. ) 

Eve.  Oh,  the  affectation  of  coquettes!  They  cannot  even  laugh  nat¬ 
urally.  (Clara  looks  at  him  reproachfully  and  walks  aside  with  Sir 
Frederick.)  But  where  is  the  new  guitar  you  meant  to  buy  Miss 
Yesey — the  one  inlaid  with  tortoise  shell? 

Sir  J.  {Taking  him  aside  confidentially .)  The  guitar — oh,  to  tell 
you  a  secret.  She  applied  the  money  I  gave  her  for  it  to  a  case  of 
charity  several  months  ago — the  very  day  the  will  was  read.  I  saw 


MONEY.  25 

the  letter  lying  on  the  table,  with  the  money  in  it.  Mind,  not  a  word 
to  her — she’d  never  forgive  me. 

Eye.  Letter — mone}7!  What  was  the  name  of  the  person  she  re¬ 
lieved?  Not  Stanton? 

Sib  J.  I  don’t  remember,  indeed. 

Eve.  ( Taking  out  the  letter .)  This  is  not  her  hand. 

Sir  J.  No.  I  observed  at  the  time  it  was  not  her  hand,  but  I 
got  out  from  her  that  she  did  not  wish  the  thing  to  be  known,  and 
had  employed  some  one  else  to  copy  it.  May  I  see  the  letter?  Yes,  1 
think  this  is  the  wording.  Still,  how  did  she  know  Mrs.  Stanton’s 
address?  You  never  gave  it  to  me. 

Eye.  I  gave  it  her.  Sir  John,  to  a  man  like  me  this  simple  act  of 
unostentatious  generosity  is  worth  all  the  accomplishments  in  the 
world.  Miss  Yesey,  I  will  be  honest.  (Clara  advances  L.)  Isay 
then  frankly  (as  Clara  approaches  raising  his  voice  and  looking  fixedly 
at  her),  I  have  loved  another — deeply — truly — bitterly — vainly.  I 
cannot  offer  to  you,  as  I  did  to  her,  the  fair  first  love  of  the  human 
heart — rich  with  all  its  blossoms  and  its  verdure.  But  if  esteeem,  if 
gratitude,  if  an  earnest  resolve  to  conquer  every  recollection  that 
would  wander  from  your  image;  if  these  can  tempt  you  to  accept 
my  hand  and  fortune,  my  life  shall  be  a  study  to  deserve  your  con¬ 
fidence.  (Clara  stands  motionless ,  clasping  her  hands,  and  then  sloicly 
seats  herself.) 

Sir  J.  The  happiest  day  of  m}r  life!  (Clara  falls  back  in  her  chair.) 

Eve.  (Darting  forward — aside.)  She  is  pale — she  faints!  What 
have  I  done?  Clara! 

Clara.  (Rising  with  a  smile.)  Be  happy,  my  cousin;  be  happy. 
YSs,  with  my  whole  heart,  I  say  it — be  happy,  Alfred  Evelyn! 

End  of  Act  II. 

ACT  III. 

Scene  I. —  The  drawing-rooms  of  Sir  John  Vesey’s  house. 

Enter  Sir  John  and  Georgina. 

Sir  J.  And  he  has  not  pressed  you  to  fix  the  wedding  day? 

Geo.  No;  and  since  he  proposed  he  comes  here  so  seldom,  and 
seems  so  gloomy.  Heigho!  Poor  Sir  Frederick  was  twenty  times 
more  amusing. 

Sir  J.  But  Evelyn  is  fifty”  times  as  rich. 

Geo.  Sir  Frederick  dresses  so  well. 

Sir  J.  You’ll  have  magnificent  diamonds. 

Geo.  My  own  kind  papa,  you  always  put  things  so  pleasantly. 
Do  you  not  fear  lest  he  discover  that  Clara  wrote  the  letter  to  his  old 
nurse? 

Sir  J.  No;  and  I  shall  get  Clara  out  of  the  house.  But  there  is 
something  else  that  makes  me  ver}7  uneasy.  You  know  that  no 
sooner  did  Evelyn  come  into  possession  of  his  fortune  than  he 
launched  out  in  the  style  of  a  prince. 


26 


MONEY. 


Geo.  But  if  he  can  afford  it — 

Sir  J.  Oh,  so  long  as  he  stopped  there  I  had  no  apprehension. 
But  they  say  he  has  taken  to  gambling,  and  he  is  always  with  Cap¬ 
tain  Smooth.  No  fortune  can  stand  Deadly  Smooth.  We  must  press 
the  marriage  at  once. 

Geo.  Heigho!  Poor  Frederick!  You  don’t  think  he  is  really  at¬ 
tached  to  Clara? 

Sir  J.  Upon  my  word,  I  can’t  say.  Put  on  your  bonnet  and  come 
to  Storr  and  Mortimer’s  to  choose  the  jewels. 

Geo.  The  jewels.  Yes,  the  drive  will  do  me  good.  So  you’ll 
send  away  Clara?  She’s  so  very  deceitful. 

Sir  J.  Never  fear.  Yes,  tell  her  to  come  to  me.  (Exit  Georgina 
R.)  Yes,  I  must  press  on  this  marriage.  Georgina  has  not  wit 
enough  to  manage  him — at  least  till  he’s  her  husband,  and  then  all 
women  find  it  smooth  sailing.  But  I  can’t  think  of  his  taking  to 
gambling,  for  I  love  him  as  a  son,  and  I  look  to  his  money  as  my  own. 

Enter  Clara  R. 

Sir  J.  Clara,  my  love. 

Clara.  Sir. 

Sir  J.  My  dear,  what  I  am  going  to  say  may  appear  a  little  rude 
and  unkind,  but  you  know  my  character  is  frankness.  To  the  point, 
then.  My  poor  child,  I  am  aware  of  your  attachment  to  Mr.  Evelyn. 

Clara.  Sir!  My  attachment f 

Sir  J.  It  is  generally  remarked.  Lady  Kind  says  you  are  falling 
away.  Poor grirl,  I  pity  you;  Ido,  indeed. 

Ci.ara.  I — I — (weeps.) 

Sir  J.  My  dear  Clara,  don’t  take  on.  I  would  not  have  said  tliis 
for  the  world,  if  I  was  not  a  little  anxious  about  my  own  girl. 
Georgina  is  so  unhappy  at  what  every  one  says  of  your  attachment. 

Clara.  Every  one?  Oh,  torture! 

Sir  J.  That  it  preys  on  her  spirits;  it  even  irritates  her  temper. 
In  a  word,  I  fear  these  little  jealousies  and  suspicions  will  tend  to 
embitter  their  future  union.  I’m  a  father;  forgive  me. 

Clara.  Embitter  their  union!  Oh,  never!  what  would  you  have 
me  do,  sir? 

SirJ.  Why,  you’re  now  independent.  Lady  Franklin  seems 
resolved  to  stay  in  town.  You  are  your  own  mistress.  Mrs.  Carlton, 
aunt  to  my  late  wife,  is  going  abroad  for  a  short  time,  and  would  be 
delighted  if  you  would  accompany  her. 

Clara.  It  is  the  very  favor  I  would  have  asked  of  you.  (Aside.) 
I  shall  escape,  at  least,  the  struggle  and  the  shame.  When  does 
she  go? 

Sir  J.  In  five  days — next  Monday.  You  forgive  me? 

Clara.  Sir,  thank  you. 

Sir  J.  (Drawing  the  table  R.)  Suppose,  then,  you  write  a  line  to 
her  yourself  and  settle  jt  at  once. 

Enter  Servant  R.  C. 

Serv.  The  carriage,  Sir  John.  Miss  Vesey  is  quite  ready. 

Sir  J.  James,  if  Mr.  Serious,  the  clergyman,  calls,  say  I  am  gone 


MONEY. 


27 


to  the  great  meeting  at  Exeter  Hall;  if  Lord  Spruce  calls,  say  you 
believe  I’m  gone  to  the  rehearsal  of  Cinderella.  Oh!  and  if  Mac- 
Finch  should  come — MacFinch,  who  duns  me  three  times  a  week — 
say  I’ve  hurried  off  to  Garroway’s  to  bid  for  the  great  Bulstrode 
estate.  Just  put  the  Duke  of  Lofty’s  card  carelessly  on  the  hall  table. 

( Exit  Servant  R.  C.)  One  must  have  a  little  management  in  this 
world.  All  humbug!  all  humbug,  upon  my  soul.  ( Exit  C.  D.) 

Clara.  ( Folding  the  letter.)  There — it  is  decided.  A  few  days, 
and  we  are  parted  forever.  A  few  weeks,  and  another  will  bear  his 
name — his  wife.  Oh,  happy  fate!  She  will  have  the  right  to  say  to 
him — though  the  whole  world  should  hear  her — “I  am  thine!”  And 
I  embitter  their  lot — I  am  the  cloud  upon  their  joyous  sunshine! 
And  yet,  oh,  Alfred!  if  she  loves  thee — if  she  knows  thee — if  she 
values  thee — and,  when  thou  wrong’st  her,  if  she  can  forgive  thee,  as 
I  do — I  can  bless  her  when  far  away,  and  join  her  name  in  my 
prayers  for  thee! 

Enter  Evelyn  R.  C. 

Eve.  ( Speaking  as  he  enters.)  Miss  Vesey  out?  Well,  I  will  write 
a  line.  Clara!  (Aside.)  Do  not  let  me  disturb  you,  Miss  Douglas. 

Clara.  Nay,  I  have  done.  ( Going  R.) 

Eve.,  I  see  that  m3'  presence  is  always  odious  to  you.  It  is  a 
reason  why  I  come  so  seldom.  But  be  cheered,  madam.  I  am  here 
but  to  fix  the  day  of  my  marriage,  and  I  shall  then  go  into  the 
country — till — till — in  short,  this  is  the  last  time  my  visit  will  ban¬ 
ish  you  from  the  room  I  enter. 

Clara.  (Aside.)  The  last  time,  and  we  shall  then  meet  no  more! 
And  to  part  thus  forever — in  scorn — in  anger — I  cannot  bear  it! 
(Approaching  him.)  Alfred,  my  cousin,  it  is  true  this  may  be  tin; 
last  time  we  shall  meet.  I  have  made  m3'  arrangements  to  quit 

England. 

Eve.  To  quit  England? 

Clara.  But,  before  I  go,  let  me  thank  you  for  many  a  past  kind¬ 
ness,  which  it  is  not  for  an  orphan  easity  to  forget. 

Eve.  (Mechanically.)  To  quit  England. 

Clara.  Evelyn,  now  that  you  are  betrothed  to  another — now, 
without  recurring  to  the  past — something  of  our  old  friendship  may 
at  least  return  to  us.  And  if,  too,  I  dared,  I  have  that  on  my  mind 
which  onlv7  a  friend — a  sister — might  presume  to  sa}’  to  you. 

Eve.  (Moved.)  Miss  Douglas — Clara — if  there  is  aught  that  I 
could  do— df,  while  hundreds — strangers — beggars — tell  me  that  I 
have  the  power,  by  opening  or  shutting  this  worthless  hand,  to  bid 
sorrow  rejoice  or  poverty  despair — if — if  my  life — m\r  heart’s  blood — 
could  render  to  you  one  such  service  as  my  gold  can  give  to  others — 
why,  speak;  and  the  past  you  allude  to — yes,  even  that  bitter  past — 
I  will  cancel  and  forget. 

Clara.  (Holding  out  her  hand.)  We  are  friends,  then.  You  are 
again  my  cousin — m3'  brother. 

Eve.  (Dropping  her  hand.)  Ah!  say  on! 

Clara.  I  speak,  then,  as  a  sister.  Oh,  Evelyn!  when  you  inher¬ 
ited  this  vast  wealth  I  pleased  myself  with  imagining  how  you 


28 


MONEY. 


would  wield  the  power  delegated  to  your  hands.  I  knew  jrour 
benevolence,  your  intellect,  your  genius,  and  I  often  thought  that,  in 
after  years,  when  far  away,  I  should  hear  your  name  identified  with 
deeds  and  ends  to  which,  for  the  great,  fortune  is  but  the  instru¬ 
ment;  I  often  thought  that  I  should  say  to  my  own  heart — weeping 
proud  and  delicious  tears — “And  once  this  man  loved  me.” 

Eye.  No  more,  Clara!  oh,  heavens,  no  more! 

Clara.  But  has  it  been  so?  Have  you  been  true  to  your  own  self? 
Pomp,  parade,  luxuries,  follies — all  these  might  distinguish  others; 
they  do  but  belie  the  ambition  and  the  soul  of  Alfred  Evelyn!  Oh, 
pardon  me — I  am  too  bold — I  pain — I  offend  you.  Ah,  I  should  not 
have  dared  thus  much,  had  1  not  thought  at  times,  that — that — 

Eve.  That  these  follies,  these  vanities,  this  dalliance  with  a 
loftier  fat*e,  were  your  own  work!  You  thought  that,  and  you  were 
right.  But  you — did  not  you  reject  me  because  I  was  poor?  Despise 
me  if  you  please.  My  revenge  might  be  unworthy.  I  wished  to  show 
you  the  luxuries,  the  gaud,  the  splendor  I  thought  you  prized;  to 
surround  with  the  attributes  3rour  sex  seems  most  to  value — the  sta¬ 
tion  that,  had  you  loved  me,  it  would  have  been  yours  to  command. 
But  vain — vain  alike  my  poverty  and  my  wealth.  You  loved  me  not 
in  either,  and  my  fate  is  sealed. 

Clara.  A  happy  fate,  Evelyn.  You  love. 

Eve.  And  at  last  I  am  beloved.  (After  a  pause,  and  turning  to 
her  abruptly.)  Do  you  doubt  it? 

Clara.  No,  I  believe  it  firmly.  (Aside.)  Were  it  possible  for  her 
not  to  love  him? 

Eve.  Georgina,  perhaps,  is  vain,  and  light — and — 

Clara.  No,  think  it  not.  And  now,  there  is  nothing  unkind 
between  us — not  even  regret — and  surely  (with  a  smile)  not  revenge, 
my  cousin,  you  will  rise  to  your  nobler  self;  and  so,  farewell. 

Eve.  No;  stay  one  moment.  You  still  feel  an  interest  in  my  fate. 
Have  I  been  deceived?  Oh,  why,  why  did  you  spurn  the  heart  whose 
offerings  were  lavished  at  your  feet? 

Clara.  We  part  as  friends. 

Eve.  Friends.  And  is  that  all?  Look  you,  this  is  life.  The  eyes 
that  charmed  away  every  sorrow,  the  hand  whose  lightest  touch 
thrilled  to  the  very  core,  a  little  while — a  year,  a  month,  a  day — all 
the  sweet  enchantment,  known  but  once,  never  to  return  again,  van¬ 
ished  from  the  world.  And  the  one  who  forgets  the  soonest,  the  one 
who  robs  your  earth  forever  of  its  summer,  comes  to  you  with  a 
careless  lip  and  says,  “Let  us  part  friends!”  Go,  go,  Clara;  go — and 
be  happy  if  you  can. 

Clara.  ( Weeping.)  Cruel,  cruel,  to  the  last.  Heaven  forgive 
you,  Alfred.  (Exit  li.) 

Eve.  Soft!  Let  me  recall  her  words,  her  tones,  her  looks.  Does 
she  lore  me?  Have  I  been  the  rash  slave  of  a  jealous  anger?  But  I 
have  made  my  choice;  I  must  abide  the  issue. 

Enter  Graves  preceded  by  Servant  R.  G. 

Serv.  Lady  Franklin  is  dressing,  sir. 

Graves.  Well,  I’ll  wait.  (Exit  Servant  R.)  She  was  worthy  to 


MONEY 


29 


have  known  the  lost  Maria.  So  considerate  to  ask  me  hither.  Not 
to  console  me — that  is  impossible — but  to  indulge  the  luxury  of  woe. 
It  will  be  a  mournful  scene.  (Seeing  Evelyn.)  Is  that  you,  Evelyn? 
I  have  just  heard  that  the  borough  of  Groginhole  is  vacant  at  last. 
Why  not  stand  yourself?  With  your  property  you  might  come  in 
without  even  a  personal  canvass. 

Eve.  I  who  despise  these  contests  for  the  color  of  a  straw — I  to 
be  one  of  the  wranglers?  Never!  (Aside.)  And  yet  Clara  spoke  of 
ambition.  She  would  regret  me  if  I  could  be  distinguished.  (Aloud.) 
To  be  sure,  after  all,  Graves,  corrupt  as  mankind  are,  it  is  our  duty 
'to  try  at  least  to  make  them  a  little  better.  An  Englishman  owes 
.something  to  his  country. 

Graves.  He  does  indeed.  (Counting  on  his  fingers.)  East  winds, 
fogs,  rheumatism,  pulmonary  complaints,  and  taxes.  (Evelyn 
walks  about  in  disorder.)  You  seem  agitated.  A  quarrel  with  your 
intended?  Oh,  when  you’ve  been  married  a  month  you  won’t  know 
what  to  do  with  one. 

Eve.  You  are  a. pleasant  comforter.  (Crosses  L.) 

Graves.  Do  you  deserve  a  comforter?  One  morning  you  tell  me 
you  love  Clara,  or  at  least  detest  her,  which  is  the  same  thing  (poor 
Maria  often  said  she  detested  me),  and  that  very  afternoon  you  pro¬ 
pose  to  Georgina. 

Eve.  Clara  will  easily  console  herself,  thanks  to  Sir  Frederick. 
(Crosses  li.) 

Graves.  Nevertheless,  Clara  has  had  the  bad  taste  to  refuse  him. 
I  have  it  from  Lady  Franklin. 

Eve.  My  dear  friend,  is  it  possible? 

Graves.  But  what  then?  You  must  marry  Georgina,  who,  to  be¬ 
lieve  Lady  Franklin,  is  sincerely  attached  to— your  fortune.  Go  and 
hang  yourself,  Evelyn.  You  have  been  duped  by  them. 

Eve.  By  them — bah!  If  deceived,  I  have  been  my  own  dupe. 
Duped!  If  I  thought  it! 

Graves.  To  be  sure.  You  tried  Clara  in  your  poverty .  It  was  a 
safe  experiment  to  try  Georgina  in  your  wealth. 

Eve.  Ha!  that  is  true,  very  true.  Goon. 

Graves.  You’ll  have  an  excellent  father-in-law.  Sir  John  posi¬ 
tively  wreeps  when  he  talks  of  your  income. 

-  Eve.  Sir  John,  possibly.  But  Georgina? 

Graves.  Plays  affection  to  you  in  the  afternoon,  after  practicing 
'first  with  Sir  Frederick  in  the  morning. 

Eve.  On  your  life,  sir,  be  serious.  What  do  you  mean? 

'  Graves.  That  in  passing  this  way  I  see  her  very  often  walking 
in  the  square  with  Sir  Frederick. 

Eve.  Ha!  say  you  so? 

Graves.  What  then?  Man  is  born  to  be  deceived.  You  look 
nervous.  Your  hand  trembles.  That  comes  of  gaming.  They  say 
at  the  clubs  that  you  play  deeply. 

Eve.  Ha!  ha!  Do  they  say  that?  A  few  hundreds  lost  or  won; 
a  cheap  opiate — anything  that  can  lay  the  memory  to  sleep.  The 
poor  man  drinks,  and  the  rich  man  gambles — the  same  motive  to 
both.  But  you  are  right.  It  is  a  base  recourse.  I  will  play  no 
more. 


30 


MONEY. 


Graves.  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,  for  your  friend  Captain 
Smooth  has  ruined  half  the  young  heirs  in  London.  Even  Sir  John 
is  alarmed.  By-the-bye,  I  forgot.  Do  you  bank  with  Flash,  Brisk, 
Credit  &  Co.  ? 

Eve.  So  Sir  John  is  alarmed?  {Aside.)  Gulled  by  this  cfoggin 
charlatan?  I  may  beat  him  yet  ai  his  own  weapons.  Humph!  Bank 
with  Flash.  Why  do  you  ask? 

Graves.  Because  Sir  John  has  just  heard  that  they  are  in  a  very 
bad  way,  and  begs  you  to  withdraw  anything  you  have  in  their 
hands. 

Eve.  I’ll  see  to  it.  So  Sir  John  is  alarmed  at  my  gambling? 

Graves.  Terribly.  He  even  told  me  he  should  go  himself  to  the 
club  this  evening  to  watch  you. 

Eve.  To  watch  me!  Good.  I  will  be  there. 

Graves.  But  you  will  promise  not  to  play? 

Eve.  Yes — to  play.  I  feel  It  is  impossible  to  give  it  up. 

Graves.  No,  no!  ’Sdeath,  man!  Be  as  wretched  as  you  please; 
break  your  heart,  that’s  nothing;  but  damme,  take  care  of  your 
pockets. 

Eve.  I  will  be  there.  I  will  play  with  Captain  Smooth.  I  will 
lose  as  much  money  as  I  please — thousands,  millions,  billions— and  if 
he  presume  to  spy  on  my  losses,  hang  me  if  I  don’t  lose  Sir  John 
himself  in  the  bargain.  {Going  out  and  returning.)  I  am  so  absent. 
What  was  the  bank  you  mentioned?  Flash,  Brisk  &  Credit.  Bless 
me,  how  unlucky,  and  it’s  too  late  to  draw  out  to-day.  Tell  Sir 
John  I’m  very  much  obliged  to  him,  and  he’ll  find  me  at  the  club 
any  time  before  daybreak  hard  at  work  with  my  friend  Smooth. 
{Exit  II.) 

Graves.  He’s  certainly  crazy;  but  I  don’t  wonder  at  it.  What 
the  approach  of  the  dog-days  is  to  the  canine  species,  the  approach 
of  the  honeymoon  is  to  the  human  race. 

Enter  Servant  R. 

Serv.  Lady  Franklin’s  compliments.  She  will  see  you  in  the 
boudoir,  sir. 

Graves.  In  the  boudoir — go,  go  —  I’ll  come  directly.  {Exit 
Servant.)  My  heart  beats — it  must  be  for  grief.  Poor  Maria! 
{Searching  his  pocket  for  his  handkerchief.)  Not  a  white  one.  Just 
like  my  luck.  I  call  on  a  lady  to  talk  of  the  dear  departed,  and  I’ve 
nothing  about  me  but  a  cursed  gaudy,  haunting,  red,  yellow  and  blue 
abomination  from  India.  {Exit  R.) 

Scene  II. — A  boudoir  in  the  same  house.  Tiro  chairs  on. 

Lady  F.  {R.)  I  take  so  much  compassion  on  this  poor  man,  who 
is  determined  to  make  himself  wretched,  that  I  am  equally  deter¬ 
mined  to  make  him  happy.  Well,  if  my  scheme  does  but  succeed  he 
shall  laugh,  he  shall  sing,  he  shall — mum;  here  he  comes. 

Enter  Graves  R. 

Graves.  {Sighing.)  Ah,  Lady  Franklin. 


MONEY. 


31 


Lady  F.  (Sighing.)  Ah,  Mr.  Graves.  (They  seat  themselves .)  Pray 
excuse  me  for  having  kept  you  so  long.  Is  it  not  a  charming  day. 

Graves.  An  east  wind,  ma’am.  But  nothing  comes  amiss  to 
you.  It’s  a  happy  disposition.  Poor  Maria!  she,  too,  was  naturally 
gay. 

Lady  F.  (Aside.)  Yes,  she  was  gay.  So  much  life,  and  a  great 
deal  of  spirit. 

Graves.  Spirit?  Yes;  nothing  could  master  it.  She  icould  have 
her  own  way.  Ah,  there  was  nobody  like  her. 

Lady  F.  And  then,  when  her  spirit  was  up,  she  looked  so  hand¬ 
some.  Her  eyes  grew  so  brilliant. 

Graves.  Did  not  they?  Ah!  ah!  ha!  ha!  ha!  And  do  you  remem¬ 
ber  her  pretty  trick  of  stamping  her  foot.  The  tiniest  little  foot;  I 
think  I  see  her  now.  Ah!  this  conversation  is  very  soothing. 

Lady  F.  How  well  she  acted  in  your  private  theatricals. 

Graves.  You  remember  her  Mrs.  Oakley,  in  “The  Jealous 
Wife?”  Ha!  ha!  how  good  it  was — ha!  ha! 

Lady  F.  Ha!  ha!  Yes,  in  the  very  first  scene,  when  she  came  out 
with  (mimicking).  ‘‘Your  unkindness  and  barbarity  will  be  the 
death  of  me!” 

p  Graves.  No,  no;  that’s  not  it;  more  energy.  (Mimicking.)  “Your 
unkindness  and  barbarity  will  be  the  death  of  me!”  Ha!  ha!  I 
ought  to  know  how  she  said  it,  for  she  used  to  practice  it  on  me 
twice  a  day.  Ah!  poor,  dear  lamb.  (Wipes  his  eyes.) 

Lady  F.  And  then  she  sang  so  well — was  such  a  composer. 
v  What  was  the  little  French  air  she  was  so  fond  of? 

Graves.  Ha!  hal  sprightly,  was  it  not?  Let  me  see — let  me  see. 

Lady  F.  (Humming .)  Turn  ti — ti — turn — ti — ti — ti.  No,  that’s 
not  it. 

Graves,  (Humming.)  Turn  ti — ti — turn  ti — ti — turn  turn  turn. 

Both.  Turn  ti — ti — turn  ti — ti — turn — turn — turn.  Ha!  ha! 

Graves.  (Throwing  himself  back.)  Ah,  what  recollections  it  re¬ 
vives.  It  is  too  affecting. 

Lady  F.  It  is  affecting,  but  we  are  all  mortal.  (Sighs.)  And  at 
your  Christmas  party,  at  Cyprus  Lodge,  do  you  remember  her  danc¬ 
ing  the  Scotch  reel  with  Captain  Macnaughten? 

Graves.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  To  be  sure — to  be  sure. 

Lady  F.  Can  you  think  of  the  step?  Somehow  thus,  was  it  not? 

Dancing. ) 

Graves.  No,  no— -quite  wrong.  Just  stand  there.  Now  then. 
(Humming  the  tune.)  La — la-la-la — la- la,  etc.  (They  dance.)  That’s 
it — excellent — admirable! 

Lady  F.  (Aside.)  Now  it’s  coming. 

Enter  Sir  John,  Blount,  and  Georgina  R.  They  stand  amazed. 

Lady  Franklin  continues  to  dance. 

Graves.  Bewitching — irresistible!  It’s  Maria  herself  that  I  see 
before  me!  Thus,  thus,  let  me  clasp— oh,  the  devil!  just  like  my 
luck!  (Stopping  opposite  Sir  John.  Lady  Franklin  runs  off  L.) 

Sir  J.  Upon  my  word,  Mr.  Graves. 


32 


MONEY. 


Blount  f  Encore — encore!  Bravo — bravo! 

Graves.  It’s  all  a  mistake!  I — I — Sir  John.  Lady  Franklin,  you 
see — that  is  to  say  I.  Sainted  Maria!  you  are  spared  at  least  this 
affliction. 

Geo.  I  Pra.y,  pro  on.  Don’t  let  us  interwupt  you.  ( Exeunt 
Blount.  J  laughing  H.) 

Scene  HI. — The  interior  of  *  *  *'s  Club;  night;  lights,  etc.  Small 

sofa  tables ,  with  books,  papers,  tea,  coffee ,  etc.  Several  members 
grouped  by  the  fireplace;  one  member  with  his  legs  over  the  back  of  his 
chair;  another  with  his  legs  over  his  table;  a  third  with  his  legs  on  the 
chimney  piece.  To  the  left,  and  in  front  of  the  stage,  an  old,  member 
reading  the  newspaper,  seated  by  a  small  round  table;  to  the  right  a 
card  table,  before  which  Captain  Dudley  Smooth  is  seated  and  sip- 
ping  lemonade;  at  the  bottom  of  the  stage  another  card  table. 

Glossmore  and  Stout  C. 

Gloss.  You  don’t  come  often  to  the  club,  Stout? 

Stout.  No;  time  is  money.  An  hour  spent  at  a  club  is  unpro¬ 
ductive  capital. 

Old  Mem.  ( Reading  the  newspaper.)  Waiter!  the  snuff-box. 
( Waiter  brings  it. ) 

Gloss.  So,  Evelyn  has  taken  to  play?  I  see  Deadly  Smooth,  “hushed 
in  grim  repose,  awaits  the  evening  prey.”  Deep  work  to-night,  I 
suspect,  for  Smooth  is  drinking  lemonade.  Keeps  his  head  clear. 
Monstrous  clever  dog. 

Enter  Evelyn;  salutes  and  shakes  hands  with  different  members  in 

passing  up  the  stage  C. 

Eve.  How  do  you  do,  Glossmore?  How  are  you,  Stout?  You  don’t 
play,  I  think.  Political  Economy  never  plays  at  cards,  eh?  Never 
has  time  for  anything  more  frivolous  than  rents  and  profits,  wages 
and  labor,  high  prices  and  low,  corn  laws,  poor  laws,  tithes,  cur¬ 
rency — dot-and-go-one — rates,  puzzles,  taxes,  riddles  and  bothera¬ 
tion.  Smooth  is  the  man!  Aha!  Smooth.  Piquet,  eh?  You  owe  me 
my  revenge!  ( Members  touch  each  other  significantly.  Stout  walks 
away  with  the  snuff-box ;  Old  Member  looks  at  him  savagely .) 

Smooth.  My  dear  Alfred,  anything  to  oblige.  ( They  seat  them¬ 
selves.) 

Old  Mem.  Waiter!  the  snuff-box.  ( Waiter  takes  it  from  Stout 
and  brings  it  back  to  Old  Member.) 

Enter  Blount  C. 

Blount.  So,  so!  Evelyn  at  it  again — eh,  Glossmore? 

Gloss.  Yes,  Smooth  sticks  to  him  like  a  leech.  Clever  fellow, 
that  Smooth. 

Blount.  Will  you  make  up  a  wubber? 

Gloss.  Have  you  got  two  others? 


MONEY. 


33 


Blount.  Yes;  Flat  and  Green. 

Gloss.  Bad  players. 

Blount.  I  make  it  a  wule  to  play  with  bad  players.  It  is  five 
per  cent,  in  one’s  favor.  I  hate  grumbling'.  But  a  quiet  wubber,  if 
one  is  the  best  player  out  of  four,  can't  do  one  an}7  harm. 

Gloss.  Clever  fellow,  that  Blount.  (Blount  takes  up  the  snuff¬ 
box  and  walks  off  with  it;  Old  Member  looks  at  him  gravely.) 

Blount,  Glossmore,  Flat  and  Green  make  up  a  table  at  the  bottom 

of  the  stage. 

Smooth.  A  thousand  pardons,  my  dear  Alfred — ninety  repique — 
ten  cards — game! 

Eye.  ( Passing  a  note  to  him.)  Game!  Before  we  go  on  one  ques¬ 
tion.  This  is  Thursday.  How  much  do  you  calculate  to  win  of  me 
before  Tuesday  next? 

Smooth.  Ce  cher  Alfred!  He  is  so  droll! 

Eve.  ( Writing  in  his  pocket-book.)  Forty  games  a  night — four 
nights,  minus  Sunday — our  usual  stakes — that  would  be  right,  I 
think. 

Smooth.  (Glancing  over  the  account.)  Quite — if  I  win  all — which 
is  next  to  impossible. 

Eve.  It  shall  be  possible  to  win  twice  as  much,  on  one  condition. 
Can  you  keep  a  secret? 

Smooth.  My  dear  Alfred,  I  have  kept  myself.  I  never  inherited 
a  farthing.  I  never  spent  less  than  4,000/.  a  year,  and  I  never  told  a 
soul  how  I  managed  it. 

Eve.  Hark  ye,  then;  a  word  with  you.  (They  whisper .) 

Old  Mem.  Waiter!  the  snuff-box.  ( Waiter  takes  it  from  Blount, 

etc.) 

Enter  Sir  John  C. 

Eve.  You  understand? 

Smooth.  Perfectly;  anything  to  oblige. 

Eve.  (Cutting.)  it  is  for  you  to  deal.  (They  go  on  playing.) 

Sir  J.  (Groaning .)  There’s  my  precious  son-in-law,  that  is  to  be, 
spending  my  consequence  and  making  a  fool  of  himself.  (Taking  up 
the  snuff-box.  Old  Member  looks  at  him  savagely.) 

Blount.  I’m  out.  Flat,  a  poney  on  the  odd  twick.  That’s  wight. 
(Coming  up  counting  his  money.)  Well,  Sir  John,  you  don’t  play? 

Sir  J.  Play,  no!  (Evelyn  passes  money  to  Smooth.)  Confound 
him — lost  again! 

Eve.  Hang  the  cards!  Double  the  stakes! 

Smooth.  Just  as  you  please — done,  Anything  to  oblige. 

Sir  J.  Done,  indeed! 

Old  Mem.  Waiter!  the  snuff-box.  (Waiter  takes  it  from  Sir 

JonN.) 

Blount.  I’ve  won  eight  points  and  the  bets;  I  never  lose.  I 
never  play  in  the  Deadly  Smooth  set.  (Takes  up  the  snuff-box.  Old 
Member  as  before . ) 

Sir  J.  (Looking  over  Smooth’s  hand  and  fidgeting  backward  and 

3 


34 


MONEY. 


forward.)  Lord  have  mercy  on  us!  Smooth  has  seven  for  his  point. 
What’s  the  stakes? 

Eve.  Don’t  disturb  us.  Stakes,  Sir  John ?  Immense!  Was  ever 
such  luck?  Do  stand  back,  Sir  John.  I’m  getting  irritable! 

Old  Mem.  Waiter!  the  snuff-box.  (  Waiter  brings  it  back  ) 

Blount.  One  hundred  pounds  on  the  next  game,  Evelyn? 

.  Sir  J.  Nonsense!  nonsense!  Don’t  disturb  him!  All  the  fishes 
come  to  the  bait.  Sharks  and  minnows  all  nibbling  away  at  my  son- 
in-law. 

Eve.  One  hundred  pounds,  Blount?  Ah!  the  finest  gentleman  is 
never  too  fine  a  gentleman  to  pick  up  a  guinea.  Done!  Treble  the 
stakes,  Smooth. 

Sin  J.  I’m  on  the  rack!  {Seizing  the  snvff-box.)  Be  cool,  Evelyn. 
Take  care,  my  dear  boy.  Now  don’t  ye  — now  don’t! 

Eve.  What — what?  You  have  four  queens;  five  to  the  king. 
Confound  the  cards — a  fresh  pack.  ( Throws  the  cards  behind  him  over 
Sin  John.  Waiter  brings  a  new  pack  of  cards  to  Evelyn.) 

Old  Mem.  Waiter!  the  snuff-box.  ( Different  members  gather 

round.) 

First  Mem.  {With  back  to  audience.)  I  never  before  saw  Evelyn 
out  of  temper.  lie  must  be  losing  immensely. 

Second  Mem.  Yes,  this  is  interesting. 

Sir  J.  Interesting!  there’s  a  wretch ! 

First  Mem.  Poor  fellow!  he’ll  be  ruined  in  a  month. 

Sir  J.  I’m  in  a  cold  sweat. 

Second  Mem.  Smooth  is  the  very  devil. 

Sir  J.  The  devil’s  a  joke  to  him. 

Gloss.  ( Slapping  Sir  John  on  the  back.)  A  clever  fellow,  that 
Smooth,  Sir  John,  eh?  {Takes  up  the  snuff-box;  Old  Member  as 
before.)  1CM. on  this  game,  Evelyn? 

Eve.  {Half  turning  round.)  You!  Well  done  the  constitution! 
Yes,  1(M. 

Old  Mem.  Waiter!  the  snuff-box. 

Stout.  I  think  I'll  venture;  2CM.  on  this  game,  Evelyn ? 

Ene.  {Quite  turning  round.)  Ha!  ha!  ha!  Enlightenment  and 
the  constitution  on  the  same  side  of  the  question  at  last.  Oh,  Stout, 
Stout!  Greatest  happiness  of  the  greatest  number  -  greatest  number, 
number  one.  Done,  Stout — 200 1.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  Ideal,  Stout.  Well 
done,  Political  Economy.  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

Sir  J.  Quite  hysterical — driveling.  Aren’t  you  ashamed  of  your¬ 
selves?  Ilis  own  cousins;  all  in  a  conspiracy — a  perfect  gangof  them. 
{Members  indignant . ) 

Stout.  {To  Members.)  Hush!  he’s  to  marry  Sir  John’s  daughter. 

First  Mem.  What,  Stingy  Jack’s?  Oh! 

Chorus  of  Members.  Oh!  oh! 

Eve.  {Rising  in  great  agitation.)  No  more!  no  more!  I’ve  done! 
quite  enough.  Glossmore,  Stout,  Blount,  I’ll  pay  you  to-morrow.  I 
— I — death!  this  is  ruinous!  (Seizes  the  snuff-box ;  Old  Member  as 
before . ) 

Sir.T.  Ruinous.  I  dare  say  it  is.  What  has  he  lost?  What  has 
he  lost,  Smooth?  Not  much,  eh?  eh?  {Omnes gather  round  Smooth.) 


MONEY. 


35 


> ' 

■ 


Smooth.  Oh,  a  trifle,  dear  John.  Excuse  me;  we  never  tell  our 
winnings.  ( To  Blount.)  How  d’ye  do,  Fred.  ( To  Glossmore.) 
By-the-bye,  Charles,  don’t  you  want  to  sell  your  house  in  Grosvenor 
Square?  13,000?.,  eh? 

Gloss.  Yes,  and  the  furniture  at  a  valuation.  About  3,000?. 
more. 

Smooth.  ( Looking  over  his  pocket-book.)  Um!  Well,  we’ll  talk 

of  it. 

Sir  J.  13  and  3 — 15,000?.  What  a  cold-blooded  rascal  it  is! 
15,000? ,  Smooth  ? 

Smooth.  Oh,  the  house  itselt  is  a  trifle,  but  the  establishment; 
I’m  considering  whether  I  have  enough  to  keep  it  up,  my  dear  John. 

Old  Mem.  Waiter!  the  snuff-box.  (Scraping  it  round,  and  wit/i  a 
wry  face.)  And  it’s  all  gone.  ( Gives  it  to  the  waiter)'  to  fill.) 

Sir  J.  ( Turning  round.)  And  it’s  all  gone! 

Eve.  ( Starting  up  anil  laughing  hysterically.)  Ha!  ha!  ha!  all 
gone?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Smooth,  this  club  is  so  noisy.  Sir  John,  you 
are  always  in  the  way.  Come  to  my  house!  Come!  Champagne  and 
a  broiled  bone.  Nothing  venture,  nothing  have.  The  luck  must 
turn,  and,  by  Jupiter,  we’ll  make  a  night  of  it. 

Sir  J.  A  night  of  it!  For  heaven’s  sake,  Evelyn!  Evelyn!  Think 
what  you  are  about!  Think  of  Georgina’s  feelings!  Think  of  your 
poor  mother!  Think  of  the  babes  unborn!  Think  of — 

Eve.  I’ll  think  of  nothing!  Zounds!  you  don’t  know  what  I’ve 
lost,  man.  It’s  all  your  fault,  distracting  my  attention.  Pshaw — 
pshaw!  Out  of  the  way,  do.  Come,  Smooth.  Ha!  ha!  A  night  of 
it,  my  boy — a  night  of  it!  ( Exeunt  Smooth  and  Evelyn.) 

Sir  J.  ( Following .)  You  must  not,  you  shall  not!  Evelyn,  my 
dear  Evelyn!  He’s  drunk — he’s  mad!  Will  no  one  send  for  the  police? 
Mem.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  Poor  old  Stingy  Jack! 

Old  Mem.  ( Rising  for  the  first  time  in  a  great  rage.)  Waiter!  the 

snuff-box. 

End  of  Act  III. 


ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. — The  ante-room  in  Evelyn’s  house ,  as  in  Scene  I,  Act  II. 
Tabouret,  Frantz  and  other  tradesmen .  * 

Tab.  ( Half  whispers.)  So  I  hear  that  Mr.  Evelyn  is  turned  game¬ 
ster.  There  are  strange  reports  about  to-day.  I  don’t  know  what  to 
make  of  it.  We  must  look  sharp  and  make  hay  while  the  sun 
shines.  ( Omnes  shake  their  heads  approvingly .) 

Enter  Smooth  R.  G.  from  the  inner  room  with  a  pocket-book  and  pencil 

in  his  hand. 

Smooth.  ( Looking  round.)  Hum!  ha!  Fine  pictures.  ( Feeling 
the  curtains.)  The  new-fashioned  velvet,  hem!  Good  proportioned 
rooms.  Yes,  this  house  is  better  than  Glossmore’s.  Oh,  Mr.  Ta- 


*See  note  page  15. 


3^  MONEY. 

. 

bouret,  the  upholsterer.  You  furnished  these  rooms.  All  of  the 
best,  eh  ? 

Tab.  Oh,  the  very  best.  Mr.  Evelyn  is  not  a  man  to  grudge 
expense,  sir. 

Smooth  He  is  not,  indeed.  You’ve  been  paid,  I  suppose, 
Tabouret? 

Tab.  No,  sir;  no.  I  never  send  in  my  bills  when  a  customer  is 
rich.  (Aside.)  Bills  are  like  trees,  and  grow  by  standing. 

Smooth.  Humph!  Not  paid?  humph!  (0 nines  gather  round.) 

Tab.  (To  the  tradesmen.)  It’s  the  great  card  player,  Captain 
Smooth.  Finest  player  in  Europe.  Cleaned  out  the  Duke  of  Silly 
Val.  Uncommonly  clever  man. 

Smooth.  ( Pacing  about  the  room.)  Thirty-six  feet  by  twenty*  eight; 
um!  I  think  a  bow-window  there  would  be  an  improvement.  Could 
it  be  done  easily,  Tabouret? 

Tab.  Have  you  bought  the  house,  sir? 

Smooth.  Bought  it.  Hum!  ha!  It  depends.  So  you  have  not 
been  paid  y*et?  Um!  Nor  you — nor  you — nor  you?  Hum,  ah! 

Tab.  No,  sir.  What  then ?  No  fear  of  Mr.  Evelyn.  Ha!  ha! 

Omnes.  (Anxiously.)  Ha!  ha!  What  then? 

Frantz.  Ah,  sare,  what  den?  I’m  a  poor  man  with  a  family;  dis 
way,  Captain.  You’ve  a  little  account  in  the  books,  and  we’ll  e’en 
wipe  it  out  altogether  if  you’ll  say  what  you  mean  by  that 
umph!  ha!* 

Smooth.  Frantz,  my  dear  fellow,  don’t  oblige  me  to  cane  you.  I 
would  not  have  Mr.  Evelyn  distressed  for  the  world.  Poor  fellow! 
He  holds  very  bad  cards.  So  you’ve  not  been  paid  yet?  Don’t  send 
in  your  bills  on  any  account!  mind!  Yes,  I  don’t  dislike  the  house 
with  some  alteration.  Good-day  to  you;  hum!  ha!  (Exit  looking 
about  him ,  examining  the  chairs ,  tables ,  etc.) 

Tab.  Plain  as  a  pikestaff!  Staked  his  very  house  on  an  odd  trick. 

Enter  Sharp  C.,  agitated  and  in  a  hurry. 

Sharp.  O  Lord!  O  Lord!  Who’d  have  thought  it?  Cards  are  the 
devil’s  book!  John!  Thomas!  Harris!  (Ringing  the  bell  that  ic as  on  the- 
table.) 

Enter  two  servants  G. 

Tom,  take  this  letter  to  Sir  John  Yesey’s.  If  not  at  home,  find  him. 
He  will  give  you  a  check.  Go  to  his  banker’s  and  get  it  cashed 
instantly.  Quick — quick!  Off  with  you! 

Tab.  (Seizing  Servant.)  What’s  the  matter?  what’s  the  matter? 
How’s  Mr.  Evelyn? 

Serv.  Bad — very  bad.  Sat  up  all  night  with  Captain  Smooth. 
(Runs  off  R.) 

Sharp.  (To  the  other  Servant.)  Yes,  Harris,  your  poor  master! 
O  dear!  O  dear!  You  will  take  this  note  to  the  Belgian  minister, 
Portland  Place.  Passport  for  Ostend!  Have  the  traveling  carriage 
ready  at  a  moment’s  notice. 

Tab.  (Stopping  Servant.)  Passport!  Hark  ye,  my  man;  is  he 
going  to  put  the  salt  seas  between  us  and  our  money? 


MONEY.  37 

Serv.  Don’t  stop  me — something  wrong  in  the  chest — change  of 
air — late  hours — and  Captain  Smooth!  ( Exit  R.) 

Sharp.  {Walking  about.)  And  if  the  bank  should  break — if  the 
bank  is  broke,  and  he  can’t  draw  out — bound  to  Smooih! 

Tab.  Bank!  What  bank? 

Sharp.  Flash’s  bank.  Flash,  brother-in-law  to  Captain  Smooth. 
What  have  you  heard?  eh?  eh? 

Tab.  That  there’s  an  awful  run  on  it. 

Sharp.  I  must  be  off.  Go — go!  You  can’t  see  Mr.  Evelyn  to-day. 

Tab.  My  account,  sir. 

Frantz.  Oh,  sare,  de  great  gentlemen  always  tink  first  of  the 
tailor. 

Sharp.  Call  again.  Call  again  at  Christmas.  The  bank,  the 
cards — the  cards,  the  bank!  O  dear!  O  dear!  ( Exit  C.) 

Tab.  The  bank! 

Frantz.  And  all  dat  vill  be  seen  of  de  great  Evelyn  coat  is  de 
back  of  it.  Bonner  und  hagel!  I  vil  arrest  him;  I  vil  put  de  salt  on 
de  tail  of  it! 

Tab.  {Aside.)  I’ll  slip  down  to  the  city  and  see  how  the  bank 
goes.  Ay,  ay,  stick  by  each  other.  Share  and  share  alike;  that's 
my  way,  sir. 

Omnes.  Share  and  share  alike.  {Exeunt  R .) 

Enter  Servant,  Glossmore  and  Blount  C. 

Serv.  My  master  is  not  very  well,  my  lord,  but  I’ll  let  him  know. 
{Exit  G. ) 

Gloss.  I’m  very  curious  te  learn  the  result  of  his  gambling  tete-a- 
tete  with  Deadly  Smooth. 

Blount.  Oh,  he’s  so  howwidly  wich,  he  can  afford  even  a  tete-a- 
tete  with  Deadly  Smooth. 

Gloss.  Poor  old  Stingy  Jack.  Why,  Georgina  was  your  intended. 

Blount.  Yes;  and  I  really  liked  the  girl,  though  out  of  pique  I 
pwoposed  to  her  cousin.  But  what  can  a  man  do  against  money. 

Enter  Evelyn  C. 

% 

If  we  could  start  fair,  you’d  see  whom  Georgina  would  pwefer;  but 
she’s  sacwificed  by  her  father.  She  as  much  as  told  me  so. 
{Grosses  R.) 

Eve.  So,  so,  gentlemen,  we’ve  a  little  account  to  settle.  One 
hundred  each. 

Both.  Don’t  talk  of  it. 

Eve.  Well,  I  won’t.  {Taking  Blount  aside.)  Ha!  ha!  you’d 
hardly  believe  it,  but  I’d  rather  not  pay  you  just  at  present;  my 
money  is  locked'  up,  and  I  must  wait,  you  know,  for  the  Groginhole 
rents?-  So,  instead  of  owing  you  one  hundred  pounds,  suppose  I  owe 
you  five?  You  can  give  me  a  check  for  the  other  four.  And,  hark 
ye,  not  a  word  to  Glossmore . 

Blount.  Glossmore!  the  greatest  gossip  in  London!  I  shall  be  de¬ 
lighted.  {Aside.)  It  never  does  harm  to  lend  to  a  wich  man;  one 
gets  it  back  somehow.  By  the  way,  Evelyn,  if  you  want  my  gwey 


cab  horse,  you  may  have  him  for  two  hundred  pounds,  and  that  will 
make  seven. 

Eve.  {Aside.)  That’s  the  fashionable  usury.  Your  friend  does 
not  take  interest;  he  sells  you  a  horse.  {Aloud.)  Blount,  it’s  a 
bargain. 

Blount.  {Writing  the  check ,  and  musingly.)  No;  I  don’t  see  what 
harm  it  can  do  me.  That  off  leg  must  end  in  a  spavin. 

Eve.  {To  Glossmore.)  That  hundred  pounds  I  owe  you  is  rather 
inconvenient  at  present.  I’ve  a  large  sum  to  make  up  for  the  Grog- 
inhole  property.  Perhaps  you  would  lend  me  five  or  six  hundred 
more,  just  to  go  on  with? 

Gloss.  Certainly,  llopkins  is  dead.  Your  interest  for  Cipher 
would — 

Eve.  Why,  I  can’t  promise  that  at  this  moment,  but  as  a  slight 
mark  of  friendship  and  gratitude  I  shall  be  very  much  flattered  if 
you’ll  accept  a  splendid  gray  cab  horse  I  bought  to-day — cost  two 
hundred  pounds. 

Gloss.  Bought  to-day !  Then  I’m  safe.  My  dear  fellow,  you’re  ■ 
always  so  princely. 

Eve.  Nonsense!  Just  write  the  check;  and,  hark  ye — not  a  sylla¬ 
ble  to  Blount. 

Gloss.  Blount?  He’s  the  town  crier.  {Goes  to  write) 

Blount.  ( Giving  Evelyn  the  check . )  Wansom’s  Pall  Mall  East.) 

Eve.  Thank  you.  So,  you  proposed  to  Miss  Douglas. 

Blount.  Hang  it!  yes.  I  could  have  sworn  that  she  fancied  me. 
Her  manner,  for  instance,  that  very  day  you  pwoposed  for  Miss 
Vesey — 

Gloss.  {Giving  the  check.)  Ransom’s  Pall  Mall  East.  Tell  me, 
did  you  win  or  lose  last  night? 

Eve.  Win!  lose!  oh,  no  more  of  that,  if  you  love  me.  I  must 
send  off  at  once  to  the  banker’s.  {Looking  at  the  two  checks.) 

Gloss.  {Aside.)  Why,  he’s  borrowed  from  Blount,  too. 

Blount.  {Aside.)  That’s  a  check  from  Lord  Glossmore. 

Eve.  Excuse  me,  I  must  dress;  I  have  not  a  moment  to  lose. 
You  remember  you  dine  with  me  to-day — seven  o’clock.  You’ll  see 
Smooth.  ( With  tears  in  his  eyes.)  It  may  be  the  last  time  that  1 
shall  ever  welcome  you  here.  What  am  I  saying?  Oh,  merely  a  joke. 
Good-bye — good-bye.  {Shaking  them  heartily  by  the  hand.  Exit  C A 

Blount.  Glossmore! 

Gloss.  Blount! 

Blount.  I’m  afraid  all’s  not  wight. 

Gloss.  I  incline  to  your  opinion. 

Blount.  But  I’ve  sold  my  gway  cab  horse. 

Gloss.  Gray  cab  horse!  You?  What  is  he  really  worth  now? 

Blount.  Since  he’s  sold  I’ll  tell  you.  Not  a  sixpence. 

Gloss.  Not  a  sixpence!  He  gave  it  to  me! 

Blount.  That  was  devilish  unhandsome.  Do  you  know,  I  feel 
nervous. 

Gloss.  Nervous!  Let  us  run  and  stop  payment  of  our 
checks. 

Blount.  Holloa,  John!  Where  so  fast? 


MONEY. 


39 


Enter  Servant  C.  in  great  haste. 

Serv.  Beg  pardon,  Sir  Frederick,  to  Pall  Mall  East — Messrs. 
Ransom.  ( Exit  R .) 

Blount.  {Solemnly.)  Glossmore,  we  are  floored. 

Gloss.  Sir,  the  whole  town  shall  know  of  it. 

Blount.  Vewy  scurvy  tweatmcnt.  {Exeunt  R.) 

Scene  II. — A  splendid  salon  in  Evelyn’s  house. 

Enter  Evelyn  arid  Graves. 

Graves.  You’ve  withdrawn  your  money  from  Flash  and  Brisk? 

Eve.  No. 

Graves.  No!  Then — 

Enter  Sir  John,  Lady  Franklin,  Georgina  and  Stout  R. 

Sir  J.  You  got  the  check  for  500£.  safely?  Too  happy  to — 

Eve.  {Interrupting  him.)  My  best  thanks!  my  warmest  gratitude! 
So  kind  in  you!  so  seasonable — that  500L  You  don’t  know  the  value 
of  that  500L  I  shall  never  forget  your  nobleness  of  conduct. 

Sir  J.  Gratitude!  Nobleness!  {Aside. )  I  can’t  have  been  taken 
in? 

Eve.  And  in  a  moment  of  such  distressl 

Sir  J.  {Aside.)  Such  distress!  He  picks  out  the  ugliest  words  in 
the  whole  dictionary. 

Eve.  I’ve  done  with  Smooth.  But  I’m  still  a  little  crippled,  and 
you  must  do  me  another  favor. 

Sir  J.  What’s  coming  now,  I  wonder? 

Eve.  Georgina’s  fortune  is  10,000£.  I  always  meant,  my  dear 
John,  to  present  you  with  that  little  sum. 

Sir  J.  Oh,  Elvelyn,  your  generosity  is  positively  touching.  ( Wipes 
his  eyes . ) 

Eve.  But  I  have  so  many  debts  at  this  moment  that — that — but 
I  see  Georgina  is  listening,  and  I’ll  say  what  I  have  to  say  to  her. 
( Crosses  to  her. ) 

Sir  J.  No,  no — no,  no!  Girls  don’t  understand  business. 

.  Eve.  The  very  reason  I  speak  to  her.  This  is  an  affair,  not  of 
business,  but  of  feeling.  Stout,  show  Sir  John  my  Correggio. 

Sir  J.  {Aside.)  Devil  take  his  Correggio.  The  man  is  born  to 
torment  me.  (Stout  takes  him  in.) 

Eve.  My  dear  Georgina,  whatever  you  may  hear  said  of  me,  I 
flatter  myself  that  you  feel  confidence  in  my  honor. 

Geo.  Can  you  doubt  it? 

Eve.  I  confess  that  lam  embarrassed  at  this  moment.  I  have 
been  weak  enough  to  lose  money  at  play,  and  there  are  other  de¬ 
mands  on  me.  I  promise  you  never  to  gamble  again  as  long  as  I 
live.  My  affairs  can  be  retrieved,  but  for  the  first  few  years  of  our 
marriage  it  may  be  necessary  to  retrench. 

Geo.  Retrench! 

Eve.  To  live  perhaps  altogether  in  the  country. 

Geo.  Altogether  in  the  country! 


40 


MONEY. 


Eye.  To  confine  ourselves  to  a  modest  competence. 

Geo.  Modest  competence!  I  knew  something  horrid  was  coming. 

Enter  Sir  P.  Blount  R. 

Eve.  And  now,  Georgina,  you  may  have  it  in  your  power  at  this 
moment  to  save  me  from  much  anxiety  and  humiliation.  My  money 
is  locked  up;  my  debts  of  honor  must  be  settled;  you  are  of  age; 
your  10,000^.  in  your  own  hands — 

Sir  J.  (Stout  listening  as  well  as  Sir  Joiin.)  I’m  standing  on  hot 
iron. 

Eve.  If  you  could  lend  it  to  me  for  a  few  weeks.  Can  you  give 
me  this  proof  of  your  confidence?  Remember,  without  confidence 
what  is  wedlock. 

Sir  J.  ( Aside  to  her.)  No!  (Aloud,  pointing  his  glass  at  the  Cor¬ 
reggio.)  Yes,  the  picture  may  be  fine. 

Stout.  But  you  don’t  like  the  subject. 

Geo.  (Aside.)  He  may  be  only  trying  me.  Best  leave  it  to  papa. 

Eve.  Well — 

Geo.  You — you  shall  hear  from  me  to-morrow.  (Aside.)  Ah, 
there’s  that  dear  Sir  Frederick.  (Goes  to  Blount.) 

Enter  Glossmore  and  Smooth  R.  Evelyn  salutes  them,  paying 

Smooth  servile  respect. 

Lady  F.  ( To  Graves . )  Ha!  ha!  To  be  so  disturbed  yesterd'ay — 
was  it  not  droll? 

Graves.  Never  recur  to  that  humiliating  topic. 

Gloss.  ( To  Stout.)  See  how  Evelyn  fawns  upon  Smooth. 

Stout.  How  mean  in  him.  Smooth — a  professional  gambler — a 
fellow  who  lives  by  his  wits.  I  would  not  know  such  a  man  on  any 
account. 

Smooth.  (To  Gloss.)  So  Hopkins  is  dead .  You  want  Cipher  to 
come  in  for  Groginhole,  eh? 

Gloss.  What!  Could  you  manage  it? 

Smooth.  Ce  cher  Charles.  Anything  to  oblige. 

Stout.  Groginhole!  What  can  he  have  to  do  with  Groginhole? 
Glossmore,  present  me  to  Smooth. 

Gloss.  What!  the  gambler — the  fellow  who  lives  by  his  wits? 

Stout.  Why,  his  wits  seem  to  be  an  uncommonly  productive 
capital.  I’ll  introduce  myself.  How  d’ye  do,  Captain  Smooth ?  We 
have  met  at  the  club,  I  think.  I  am  charmed  to  make  your  ac¬ 
quaintance  in  private.  I  say,  sir,  what  do  you  think  of  the  affairs  of 
the  nation?  Bad;  very  bad!  No  enlightenment — great  fall  off  in  the 
revenue; — no  knowledge  of  finance.  There’s  only  one  man  who  can 
save  the  country — and  that’s  Popxins! 

Smooth.  Is  he  in  Parliament,  Mr.  Stout?  What’s  your  Christian 
name,  by-the-bye? 

Stout.  Benjamin — no.  Constituencies  are  so  ignorant,  they 
don’t  understand  his  value.  He’s  no  orator;  in  fact,  he  stammers  so 
much — but  devilish  profound.  Could  not  we  ensure  him  for  Grog¬ 
inhole? 


MONEY. 


41 


Smooth.  My  dear  Benjamin,  it’s  a  thing  to  be  thought  on. 

Eye.  {Advancing.)  My  friends,  I  wish  to  consult  37ou.  This  day 
twelvemonth  I  succeeded  to  an  immense  income,  and  as,  by  a  happy 
coincidence,  on  the  same  day  I  secured  }rour  esteem,  so  now  I  wish 
to  ask  you  if  you  think  I  could  have  spent  that  income  in  a  way 
more  worthy  of  your  good  opinion? 

Gloss.  Impossible!  excellent  taste — beautiful  house. 

Blount.  Yewy  good  horses  {aside  to  Glossmore)  especially  the 
gwey  cab. 

Lady  F.  Splendid  pictures. 

Graves.  And  a  magnificent  cook,  ma’am. 

SmOoth.  {Thrusting  his  hands  in  his  'pockets.)  It’s  my  opinion, 
Alfred— and  I’m  a  judge — that  you  could  not  have  spent  your  money 

better. 

Omnes.  {Except  Sir  John.)  Very  true. 

Eve.  What  say  you,  Sir  John? 

Sir  J.  Certainly — certainly.  No,  you  could  not  have  done  better. 
{Aside.)  I  don’t  know  what  to  make  of  it. 

Geo.  Certainly.  {Coaxingly .)  Don’t  retrench,  my  dear  Alfred. 

Gloss.  Retrench!  nothing  so  plebeian.  It  is  against  all  the  rules 
of  public  morality.  Every  one  knows  now-a-days  that  extravagance 
is  a  benefit  to  the  population,  encourages  art,  employs  labor,  and 
multiplies  spinning-jennies. 

Eve.  You  reassure  me.  I  own  I  did  think  that  a  man  worthy  of 
friends  so  sincere  might  have  done  something  better  than  feast — 
dress — drink — play — 

Gloss.  Nonsense!  we  like  you  the  better  for  it.  {Aside.)  I  wish 
I  had  my  GOOZ.  back,  though. 

Eve.  And  you  are  as  much  my  friends  now  as  when  you  offered 
me  10£.  for  my  old  nurse. 

Sir  J.  A  thousand  times  more  so,  my  dear  boy.  (Omnes  approve.) 

Enter  Sharp  It. 

Smooth.  But  who’s  our  new  friend? 

Eve.  Who?  The  very  man  who  first  announced  to  me  the  wealth 
which  you  allow  I  have  spent  so  well.  '  But  what’s  the  matter, 
Sharp?  (SnARP  tohispering  Evelyn.) 

Eve.  {Aloud.)  The  bank’s  broke/ 

Sir  J.  Broke!  what  bank? 

Eve.  Flash,  Brisk  &  Co. 

Gloss.  ( To  Smooth. )  And  Flash  was  your  brother-in-law.  I’m 
very  sorry. 

Smooth.  {Taking  snuff.)  Not  at  all,  Charles;  I  did  not  bank 

there. 

Sir  J.  But  I  warned  you.  You  withdrew? 

Eve.  Alas!  no!  . 

Sir  J.  Oh!  not  much  in  their  hands? 

Eve.  Why,  I  told  you  the  purchase  money  for  Groginhole  was  at 
my  banker’s.  But  no,  no;  don’t  look  so  frightened.  It  was  not 
placed  with  Flash;  it  is  at  Hoare’s;  it  is  indeed  .  Nay,  I  assure  you 
it  is.  A  mere  trifle  at  Flash’s — upon  my  word,  now.  To-morrow, 


42 


MONEY. 


Sharp,  we’ll  talk  of  this.  One  day  more — one  day  at  least  for  en¬ 
joyment. 

Snt  J.  Oh!  a  pretty  enjoyment. 

Blount.  And  he  borrowed  700?.  of  me. 

Gloss.  And  600?.  of  me. 

Sir  J.  And  500?.  of  me. 

Stout.  Oh,  a  regular  Jeremy  Diddler.  I  say,  you  have  placed 
your  daughter  in  a  very  unsafe  investment.  Transfer  the  stock  in 
hand  to  t’other  speculation. 

Sir  J.  ( Going  to  Georgina.)  Ha!  I’m  afraid  we’ve  been  very 
rude  to  Sir  Frederick.  A  monstrous  fine  young  man. 

Enter  Tore  R. 

Tore.  (To  Evelyn.)  Sir,  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  Mr.  Macfinch 
insists  on  my  giving  up  this  letter  instantly. 

Eye.  (Reading.)  How!  Sir  John,  this  fellow,  Macfinch,  has 
heard  of  my  misfortunes  and  insists  on  being  paid;  a  lawyer’s  letter 
— quite  insolent. 

Tore.  And,  sir,  Mr.  Tabouret  is  below,  and  declares  he  won’t 
stir  till  he’s  paid.  (Exit  R.) 

Eve.  Won’t  stir  till  he’s  paid.  What’s  to  be  done,  Sir  John? 
Smooth,  what  is  to  be  done? 

Smooth.  If  he  won’t  stir  till  lie’s  paid,  make  him  up  a  bed,  and 
I’ll  take  him  in  the  inventory  as  one  of  the  fixtures,  Alfred. 

Eve.  It  is  very  well  for  you  to  joke,  Mr.  Smooth,  but — 

Enter  Servant  and  Officer,  giving  a  paper  to  Evelyn  and  whispering. 

Eve.  What’s  this?  Frantz,  the  tailor.  Why,  you  impudent 
scoundrel!  Faith,  this  is  more  than  I  bargained  for.  Sir  John,  I’m 
arrested.  (Enter  Servant  R.) 

Stout.  (Slapping  Sir  John  on  the  back  with  glee.)  He’s  arrested, 
old  gentleman;  but  I  didn’t  lend  him  a  farthing. 

Eve.  And  for  a  mere  song — 150?.  Sir  John,  pay  this  fellow,  will 
you?  or  bail  me,  or  something,  while  we  go  to  dinner. 

Sir  J.  Pay — bail — I’ll  be  d — d  if  I  do!  Oh,  my  500?. — my  500?. ! 
Mr.  Alfred  Evelyn,  I  want  my  500?.! 

Graves.  I’m  going  to  do  a  very  silly  thing.  I  shall  lose  both  my 
friend  and  my  money.  Just  like  my  luck.  Evelyn,  go  to  dinner; 
I’ll  settle  this  for  you. 

Lady  F.  I  love  you  for  that. 

Graves.  Do  you?  Then  I  am  the  happiest — ah!  ma’am,  I  don’t 
know  what  I  am  saying.  ■  (Exeunt  Graves  and  Officer  R.) 

Eve.  (To  Georgina.)  Don’t  go  by  these  appearances.  I  repeat, 
10,000?.  will  more  than  cover  my  embarrassments.  I  shall  hear  from 
you  to-morrow? 

Geo.  Yes — yes.  (Going  up  R.) 

Eve.  But  you’re  not  going?  You,  too,  Glossmore? — 3rou,  Blount? 
— you,  Stout? — you,  Smooth? 

Smooth.  No;  I’ll  stick  by  you — as  long  as  you’ve  a  guinea  to 
stake. 


MONEY. 


43 


Stout.  Don't  stop  me,  sir.  No  man  of  common  enlightenment 
would  have  squandered  his  substance  in  this  way.  Pictures  and 
statues! — baugh! 

Eye.  Why,  you  all  said  I  could  not  spend  my  money  better.  Ha! 
ha!  ha!  the  absurdest  mistake!  You  don’t  fancy  I’m  going  to  prison? 
Ha!  ha!  Why  don’t  you  laugh,  Sir  John?  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

Sir  J.  Sir,  this  is  horrible  levity!  Take  Sir  Frederick’s  arm,  my 
poor,  injured,  innocent  child.  Mr.  Evelyn,  after  this  extraordinary 
scene,  you  can’t  be  surprised  that  I — I — zounds!  Pm  suffocating! 

Smooth.  But,  my  dear  John,  they’ve  no  right  to  arrest  the 
dinner. 

Enter  Toke  C. 

Toke.  Dinner  is  served. 

Gloss.  {Pausing.)  Dinner. 

Stout.  Dinner;  it’s  a  very  good  smell. 

Eve.  {To  Sir  John.)  Turtle  and  venison,  too.  (71 'hey  stop  irreso¬ 
lute.)  That’s  right;  come  along.  But,  1  say,  Blount — Stout — Gloss- 
more — Sir  John — one  word  first.  Will  you  lend  me  10£.  for  my  old 
nurse?  {Exeunt  Omnes  indignantly  R.) 

Smooth  and  Eve.  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

End  of  Act  IV. 


ACT  V. 

Scene  1. — *  *  *  's  Club. 

Smooth  and  Glossmore  discovered. 

Gloss.  Will  his  horses  be  sold,  think  you? 

Smooth.  Very  possibly,  Charles.  A  fine  stud — hum,  ha!  Waiter, 
a  glass  of  sherry. 

Enter  Waiter  C.  with  sherry. 

Gloss.  They  say  he  must  go  abroad. 

Smooth.  Well,  it’s  the  best  time  of  year  for  traveling,  Charles. 

Gloss.  We  are  all  to  be  paid  to-day,  and  that  looks  suspicious. 

Smooth.  Very  suspicious,  Charles.  Hum!  ah! 

Gloss.  My  dear  fellow,  you  must  know  the  rights  of  the  matter. 
I  wish  you’d  speak  out.  What  have  ymu  really  won.  Is  the  house 
itself  gone? 

Smooth.  The  house  itself  is  certainly  not  gone,  Charles,  for  I 
saw  it  exactly  in  the  same  place  this  morning  at  half  past  ten.  It 
has  not  moved  an  inch.  {Waiter  gives  a  letter  to  Glossmore.) 

Gloss.  {Reading.)  From  Groginhole — an  express.  What’s  this? 
I’m  amazed!  {Reading.)  “They’ve  actually  at  the  eleventh  hour 
started  Mr.  Evelyn,  and  nobody  knows  what  his  politics  are.  We 
shall  be  beat! — the  constitution  is  gone! — Cipher!”  Oh!  this  is  in¬ 
famous  in  Evelyn!  Gets  into  Parliament  just  to  keep  himself  out  of 
the  Bench! 

Smooth.  He’s  capable  of  it. 

'  Gloss.  Not  a  doubt  of  it,  sir!  not  a  doubt  of  it! 


44 


MONEY. 


Enter  Sir  John  and  Blount  C.  talking. 

Sir  J.  My  dear  boy,  I’m  not  flint;  I’m  but  a  man.  If  Georgina 
really  loves  you — and  I  am  sure  that  she  does — I  will  never  think  of 
sacrificing  her  happiness  to  ambition.  She  is  yours;  I  told  her  so 
this  very  morning. 

Blount.  ('Aside.)  The  old  humbug. 

SirJ.  She’s  the  best  of  daughters,  the  most  obedient,  artless 
creature.  Dine  with  me  at  seven  and  we’ll  talk  of  the  settlements. 

Enter  Stout  C.  wiping  his  forehead  and  taking  Sir  John  aside. 

Stout.  Sir  John,  we’ve  been  played  upon.  My  secretary  is 
brother  to  Flash’s  head  clerk.  Evelyn  had  not  30(F.  in  the  bank. 

Sir  J.  Bless  us  and  save  us — you  take  away  my  breath!  But  then 
— Deadly  Smooth — the  arrest — the — oh,  he  must  be  done  up! 

Stout.  As  to  Smooth,  he’d  “do  anything  to  oblige.”  All  a  trick, 
depend  on  it.  Smooth  has  already  deceived  me,  for  before  the  day’s 
over  Evelyn  will  be  member  for  Groginhole. 

Sir  J.  But  what  could  be  Evelyn’s  object \? 

Stout.  Object!  Do  you  look  for  an  object  in  a  whimsical  creature 
like  that?  A  man  who  has  not  even  any  political  opinions!  Object! 
Perhaps  to  break  off  his  match  with  your  daughter.  Take  care,  Sir 
John,  or  the  borough  will  be  lost  to  your  family. 

Sir  J.  Aha!  I  begin  to  smell  a  rat;  but  it’s  not  too  late  yet. 

Stout.  My  interest  in  Popkins  made  me  run  to  Lord  Spendquick, 
the  late  proprietor  of  Groginhole.  I  told  him  that  Evelyn  could  not 
pay  him  the  rest  of  the  money,  and  he  told  me  that — 

Silt  J.  What? 

Stout.  Mr.  Sharp  had  just  paid  it  him!  There’s  no  hope  for 
Popkins.  England  will  rue  this  day!  (Goes  up  stage.) 

SirJ.  Georgina  shall  lend  him  the  money!  /VHend  him — every 
man  in  the  house  shall  lend  him — I  feel  again  what  it  is  to  be  a 
father-in-law.  Sir  Frederick,  excuse  me — you  can’t  dine  with  me 
to-day.  And,  on  second  thoughts,  I  see  that  it  would  be  very  un¬ 
handsome  to  desert  poor  Evelyn  now  he’s  down  in  the  world.  Can’t 
think  of  it,  my  dear  boy — can’t  think  of  it.  Yery  much  honored, 
and  happy  to  see  you  as  a  friend.  Waiter!  my  carriage.  Um! 
What!  humbug  Stingy  Jack ,  will  they?  Ah!  a,  good  joke  indeed! 
(Exit  C.) 

Blount.  Mr.  Stout,  what  have  you  been  saying  to  Sir  John? 
Something  against  my  character — I  know  you  have;  don’t  deny  it. 
Sir,  I  shall  expect  satisfaction. 

Stout.  Satisfaction,  Sir  Frederick?  As  if  a  man  of  enlightenment 
had  any  satisfaction  in  fighting.  Did  not  mention  your  name;  we 
were  talking  of  Evelyn.  Only  think;  he’s  no  more  ruined  than  you 
^are. 

Bi.ount.  Not  wuined?  Aha,  now  I  understand!  So,  so!  Stay,  let 
me  see — she’s  to  meet  me  in  the  square.  (Pulls  out  his  watch ,  a  very 
small  one.) 

Stout.  (Pulling  out  his  own,  a  very  large  one.)  I  must  be  off  tos 
the  vestry. 


MONEY. 


45 


Blount.  Just  in  time — ten  thousand  pounds!  Gad,  m37  blood’s 
up,  and  I  won’t  be  tweated  in  this  way,  if  he  were  fifty  times  Stingy 
Jack!  {Exit  G.) 

Scene  II. — The  drawing-rooms  in  Sir  John  Yesey’s  house. 

Enter  Lady  Franklin  and  Graves  11. 

Graves.  Well,  well,  I  am  certain  that  poor  Evelyn  loves  Clara 
still;  but  you  can’t  persuade  me  that  she  cares  for  him. 

Lady  F.  She  has  been  breaking  her  heart  ever  since  she  heard  of 
his  distress.  Na}7,  I  am  sure  she  would  give  all  she  has  could  it  save 
him  from  the  consequences  of  his  own  folly. 

Graves.  {Half  aside.)  She  would  give  him  his  own  money,  if  she 
did.  I  should  like  just  to  sound  her. 

Lady  F.  {Ringing  the  bell.)  And  37ou  shall. 

Enter  Servant  R. 

Where  are  the  3roung  ladies? 

Serv.  Miss  Yesey  is,  I  believe,  still  in  the  square;  Miss  Douglas  is 
just  come  in,  m37  lady. 

Lady  F.  What,*  did  not  she  go  out  with  Miss  Yesey? 

Serv.  No,  my  lady;  I  attended  her  to  Drummond’s,  the  bankers. 
( Exit  R .) 

Lady  F.  Drummond’s? 

Enter  Clara  li. 

Why,  child,  what  on  earth  could  take  you  to  Drummond’s  at  this 
hour  of  the  day? 

Clara.  {Confused.)  Oh,  I — that  is — I — ah,  Mr.  Graves.  How  is 
Mr.  Evelyn?  How  does  he  bear  up  against  so  sudden  a  reverse? 

Graves.  With  an  awful  calm.  I  fear  all  is  not  right  here. 
{Touching  his  head.)  The  report  in  tjie  town  is,  that  he  must  go 
abroad  instantty — perhaps  to-day.  {Crosses  to  C.) 

Clara.  Abroad!  To-day! 

Graves.  But  all  his  creditors  will  be  paid,  and  he  onhr  seems 
anxious  to  know  if  Miss  Yesey  remains  true  in  his  misfortunes. 

Clara.  Ah!  he  loves  her  so  much,  then. 

Graves.  Um!  that’s  more  than  I  can  say. 

Clara.  She  told  me  last  night  that  he  said  to  the  last  that  10,000/. 
would  free  him  from  all  liabilities — that  was  the  sum,  was  it  not? 

Graves.  Yes;  he  persists  in  the  same  assertion.  Will  Miss  Yesey 

lend  it? 

Lady  F.  {Aside.)  If  she  does  I  shall  not  think  so  well  of  her  poor 
dear  mother;  for  I’m  sure  she’d  be  no  child  of  Sir  John’s. 

Graves.  I  should  like  to  convince  myself  that  my  poor  friend  has 
nothing  to  hope  from  a  woman’s  generosity. 

Lady  F.  Civil!  And  are  men,  then,  less  covetous? 

Graves.  I  know  one  man,  at  least,  who,  rejected  in  his  poverty 
by  one  as  poor  as  himself,  no  sooner  came  into  sudden  fortune  than  he 
made  his  law37er  invent  a  codicil  which  the  testator  never  dreamt  of, 
bequeathing  indepedence  to  the  woman  who  had  scorned  him. 


46 


MONEY. 


LadyF.  And  never  told  her? 

Graves.  Never!  There  is  no  such  document  at  Doctors’  Com¬ 
mons,  depend  on  it.  You  seem  incredulous,  Miss  Clara.  Good-day. 
(Crosses  R.) 

Clara.  (Following  him.)  One  word,  for  mercy’s  sake?  Do  I  un¬ 
derstand  you  right?  Ah,  how  could  I  be  so  blind?  Generous  Evelyn! 

Graves.  You  appreciate,  and  Georgina  will  desert  him.  Miss 
Douglas,  he  loves  you  still.  If  that’s  not  just  like  me!  meddling 
with  other  people’s  affairs,  as  if  they  were  worth  it — hang  them! 
(Exit  R.) 

Clara.  Georgina  will  desert  him.  Do  you  think  so? 

LadyF.  She  told  me  last  night  that  she  would  never  see  him 
again.  To  do  her  justice,  she’s  less  interested  than  her  father,  and 
as  much  attached  as  she  can  be  to  another.  Even  while  engaged  to 
Evelyn  she  has  met  Sir  Frederick  every  day  in  the  square. 

Clara.  And  he  is  alone — sad — forsaken — ruined.  And  I,  whom 
he  enriched — I,  the  creature  of  his  bounty — I,  once  the  woman  of  his 
love — I  stand  idly  here  to  content  myself  with  tears  and  prayers! 
Oh,  Lady  Franklin,  have  pity  on  me — on  him!  We  are  both  of  kin 
to  him;  as  relations  we  have  both  a  right  to  comfort.  Let  us  go  to 
him — come. 

Lady  F.  No;  it  would  scarcely  be  right.  Remember  the  world 
— I  cannot. 

Clara.  All  abandon  him.  Then  I  will  go  alone. 

Lady  F.  But  if  Georgina  do  indeed  release  him — if  she  has  already 
done  so — what  will  he  think?  What  but — 

Clara.  What  but — that,  if  he  love  me  still,  I  may  have  enough 
for  both,  and  I  am  by  his  side.  But  that  is  too  bright  a  dream.  He 
told  me  I  might  call  him  brother.  Where,  now,  should  a  sister  be? 
But — but — I — I — I  tremble!  If,  after  all— if — if — in  one  word — am  I 
too  bold?  The  world — my  conscience  can  answer  that — but  do  you 
think  that  he  could  despise  me? 

Lady  F.  No,  Clara,  no?  Your  fair  soul  is  too  transparent  for  even 
libertines  to  misconstrue.  Something  tells  me  that  this  meeting 
may  make  the  happiness  of  both.  You  cannot  go  alone.  My  pres¬ 
ence  justifies  all.  Give  me  your  hand.  We  will  go  together. 
(Exit  R.) 

Scene  III. — A  room  in  Evelyn’s  house. 

Enter  Evelyn  R. 

Eve.  Yes;  as  yet,  all  surpasses  my  expectations.  I  am  sure  of 
Smooth — I  have  managed  even  Sharp.  My  election  will  seem  but  an 
escape  from  a  prison.  Ha!  ha!  True,  it  cannot  last  long;  but  a  few 
hours  more  are  all  I  require. 

Enter  Graves  R. 

Well,  Graves,  what  do  the  people  say  of  me? 

Graves.  Everything  that’s  bad. 

Eve.  Three  days  ago  I  was  universally  respected.  1  awake  this 


MONEY. 


47 


morning  to  find  myself  singularly  infamous.  Yet  I  am  the  same 

man. 

Graves.  Humph!  why  gambling — 

Eve.  Can!  It  was  not  criminal  to  gamble:  it  was  criminal  to  lose. 
Tut!  Will  you  deny  that,  if  I  had  ruined  Smooth  instead  of  myself, 
every  hand  would  have  grasped  mine  yet  more  cordially,  and  every 
lip  would  have  smiled  congratulations  on  my  success?  Man— man! 
I’ve  not  been  rich  and  poor  for  nothing.  The  vices  and  the  virtues 
are  written  in  a  language  the  world  cannot  construe,  it  reads  them 
in  a  vile  translation,  and  the  translators  are  failure  and  success! 
You  alone  are  unchanged. 

Graves.  There’s  no  merit  in  that.  I  am  always  ready  to  mingle 
my  tears  with  any  man.  (Aside.)  1  know  I’m  a  fool,  but  I  can’t 
help  it.  Hark  .ye,  Evelyn!  I  like  you.  I’m  rich,  and  anything  I  can 
do  to  get  you  out  of  your  hobble  will  give  me  an  excuse  to  grumble 
•for  the  rest  of  my  life.  There,  now  it’s  out. 

Eve.  (Touched.)  There’s  something  good  in  human  nature  after 
all.  My  dear  friend,  did  I  want  your  aid  I  would  accept  it,  but  I 
can  extricate  myself  yet.  Do  you  think  Georgina  will  give  me  the 
same  proof  of  confidence  and  affection? 

Graves.  Would  you  break  your  heart  if  she  did  not? 

Eve.  It  is  in  vain  to  deny  that  I  still  love  Clara. 

Graves.  What  do  you  intend  to  do? 

Eve.  This:  If  Georgina  still  adheres  to  my  fortunes,  if  she  can 
face  the  prospect,  not  of  ruin  and  poverty,  for  reports  wrong  me 
there,  but  of  a  moderate  independence;  if,  in  one  word,  she  loves  me 
for  myself,  J  will  shut  Clara  forever  from  my  thought.  I  am  pledged 
to  Georgina,  and  I  will  carry  to  the  altar  a  soul  resolute  to  deserve 
her  affection  and  fulfill  its  vows. 

Graves.  And  if  she  reject  you? 

Eve.  (Joyfully.)  If  she  do,  I  am  free  once  more.  And  then — 
then  I  will  dare  to  ask,  for  I  can  ask  without  dishonor,  if  Clara  can 
explain  the  past  and  bless  the  future. 

Enter  Servant  II.  icith  a  letter. 

Eve.  (Crosses  to  meet  him ,  after  reading  it.)  The  die  is  cast — the 
dream  is  over.  Generous  girl!  Oh,  Georgina,  I  will  deserve  you  yet. 

Graves.  Georgina — is  it  possible? 

Eve.  And  the  delicacy,  the  womanhood,  the  exquisite  grace  of 
this.  How  we  misjudge  the  depth  of  the  human  heart!  I  imagined 
her  incapable  of  this  devotion. 

Graves.  And  I  too. 

Eve.  It  were  base  in  me  to  continue  this  trial  a  moment  longer. 
I  will  write  at  once  to  undeceive  that  generous  heart.  (Writing.) 

Graves.  I  would  have  given  1,000£.  if  that  little  jade  Clara  had 
been  beforehand.  But  just  like  my  luck;  if  I  want  a  man  to  marry 
one  woman,  he’s  sure  to  marry  another  on  purpose  to  vex  me. 
(Evelyn  rings  bell.) 

Enter  Servant  R. 

Eve.  Take  this  instantly  to  Miss  Vesey.  Say  I  will  call  in  an 
hour.  (Exit  Servant.)  Why  does  my  heart  sink  within  me?  Why, 


48 


/ 


MONEY. 


why,  looking  to  the  fate  to  come,  do  1  see  only  the  memory  of  what 
has  been  ? 

Graves.  You  are  re-engaged,  then,  to  Georgina? 

Eve.  Irrevocably. 

Enter  Servant  11.  announcing  Lady  Franklin  and  Miss  Douglas. 

Lady  F.  My  dear  Evelyn,  you  may  think  it  strange  to  receive 
such  visitors  at  this  moment;  but,  indeed,  it  is  no  time  for  cere¬ 
mony.  We  are  your  relations.  It  is  reported  you  are  about  to  leave 
the  country.  We  come  to  ask  frankly  what  we  can  do  to  serve  you? 

Eve.  Madam — I — 

Lady  F.  Come,  come;  do  not  hesitate  to  confide  in  us.  Clara  is 
less  a  stranger  to  you  than  I  am.  Your  friend  here  will  perhaps  let 
me  consult  with  him.  ( Crosses  and  speaks  aside  to  Graves.)  Let  us 
leave  them  to  themselves. 

Graves.  You’re  an  angel  of  a  widow,  but  you  come  too  late,  as 
whatever  is  good  for  anything  generally  does.  (Goes  up  with  Lady 
Franklin.) 

Eve.  Miss  Douglas,  I  may  well  want  words  to  thank  you.  This 
goodness — this  sympathy — 

Clara.  (Abandoning  herself  to  her  emotion .)  Evelyn!  Evelyn!  Do 
not  talk  thus,'  Goodness!  sympathy!  I  have  learned  all — all!  It  is  for 
me  to  speak  of  gratitude.  To  you — you  I  owe  all  that  has  raised  the 
poor  orphan  from  servitude  and  dependence.  While  your  words 
were  so  bitter,  your  deeds  so  gentle.  Oh,  noble  Evelyn,  this,  then, 
was  your  revenge! 

Eve.  You  owe  me  no  thanks.  That  revenge  was  sweet.  Think 
you  it  was  nothing  to  feel  that  my  presence  haunted  you,  though 
you  knew  it  not?  Even  if  separated  forever — even  if  another’s — even 
in  distant  years — perhaps  in  a  happy  home,  listening  to  sweet  voices 
that  might  call  you  “mother” — even  then  should  the  uses  of  that 
dross  bring  to  your  lips  one  smile — that  smile  was  mine — due  to  me 
— due,  as  a  sacred  debt  to  the  hand  that  you  rejected — to  the  love 
that  you  despised . 

Clara.  Despised!  See  the  proof  that  I  despised  you.  See,  in  this 
hour,  when  they  say  you  are  again  as  poor  as  before,  I  forget  the 
world,  my  pride — perhaps  too  much  my  sex.  I  remember  but  your 
sorrow — I  am  here. 

Eve.  And  is  this  the  same  voice  that,  when  I  knelt  at  your  feet, 
and  asked  but  one  day  the  hope  to  call  you  mine,  spoke  only  of  pov¬ 
erty,  and  answered,  “Never!" 

Clara.  Because  1  had  been  unworthy  of  your  love  if  I  had  en¬ 
sured  your  misery.  Evelyn,  hear  me.  My  father,  like  you,  was 
poor — generous;  gifted,  like  you,  with  genius,  ambition;  sensitive, 
like  you,  to  the  least  breath  of  insult.  He  married,  as  you  would 
have  done — married  one  whose  only  dowry  was  penury  and  care. 
Alfred,  I  saw  that  genius  the  curse  to  itself;  I  saw  that  ambition 
wither  to  despair;  I  saw  the  struggle — the  humiliation — the  proud 
man’s  agony — the  bitter  life — the  early  death — and  heard  over  his 
breathless  clay  my  mother’s  groan  of  self-reproach.  Alfred  Evelyn, 
now  speak.  Was  the  woman  you  loved  so  nobly  to  repay  you  with 
such  a  doom  ? 


I 


MONEY. 


49 


Eve.  Clara,  wo  should  have  shared  it. 

Clara.  Shared?  Never  let  the  woman  who  really  loves  comfort 
her  selfishness  with  such  delusion.  In  marriages  like  this  the  wife 
cannot  share  the  burden.  It  is  he — the  husband — to  provide,  to 
scheme,  to  work,  to  endure,  to  grind  out  his  strong  heart  at  the  mis¬ 
erable  wheel.  The  wife,  also,  cannot  share  the  struggle.  She  can 
but  witness  despair.  And  therefore,  Alfred,  I  rejected  you. 

Eve.  Yet  you. believe  me  as  poor  now  as  I  was  then. 

Clara.  But  /am  not  poor — roe  are  not  so  poor.  Of  this  fortune, 
which  is  all  your  own — if,  as  I  hear,  one-half  would  free  you  from 
your  debts,  why,  roe  have  the  other  half  still  left ,  Evelyn.  It  is 
humble,  but  it  is  not  penury. 

Eve.  Cease,  cease;  you  know  not  how  you  torture  me.  Oh,  why 
were  such  blessed  words  not  vouchsafed  to  me  before?  Why,  why 
come  they  now — too  late?  Oh,  heaven,  too  late! 

Clara.  Too  late!  What,  then,  have  I  said? 

Eve.  I  am  bound  by  every  tie  of  faith,  gratitude,  loyalty  and 
honor  to  another. 

Clara.  Another!  Is  she,  then,  true  to  your  reverses?  I  did  not 
know  this;  indeed  I  did  not.  And  I  have  thus  betrayed  myself.  Oh, 
shame!  he  must  despise  me  now.  (  Goes  vp.) 

Enter  Sir  John;  at  the  same  time  Graves  and  Lady  Franklin 

come  dozen. 

Sir  J.  ( With  dignity  and  frankness .)  Evelyn,  I  was  hasty  yester¬ 
day.  You  must  own  it  natural  that  I  should  be  so.  But  Georgina 
has  been  so  urgent  in  your  defence  that— that  I  cannot  resist  her. 
What’s  money  without  happiness?  So  give  me  your  security;  for  she 
insists  on  lending  you  the  10,000?. 

Eve.  I  know,  and  have  already  received  it. 

Sir  J.  (R-)  Already  received  it!  Is  he  joking?  Faith,  for  the  last 
two  days  I  believe  I  have  been  living  among  the  Mysteries  of  Udol- 
pho.  Sister,  have  you  seen  Georgina? 

Lady  F.  (R.)  Not  since  she  went  to  walk  out  in  the  square. 

SirJ.  (Aside.)  -  She’s  notin  the  square  nor  the  house.  Where 
the  deuce  can  the  girl  be? 

Eve.  I  have  written  to  Miss  Vesey.  I  have  asked  her  to  fix  the 
day  for  our  wedding. 

SirJ.  (Joyfully.)  Have  you?  Go,  Lady  Franklin;  find  her  in¬ 
stantly.  She  must  be  back  by  this  time.  Take  my  carriage;  it  is 
but  a  step;  you  won’t  be  two  minutes  gone.  (Aside.)  I’d  go  myself, 
but  I’m  afraid  of  leaving  him  in  a  moment  while  he’s  in  such  excel¬ 
lent  disposition. 

Lady  F.  (Rejnilsing  Clara.)  No,  no;  stay  till  I  return.  ( Exit  R.) 

Sir  J.  And  don’t  be  down-hearted,  my  dear  fellow.  If  the  worst 
comes  to  the  worst,  you  will  have  everything  1  can  leave  you. 
Meantime,  if  I  can  in  any  way  help  you — 

Eve.  Ha!  you — you,  too?  Sir  John,  you  have  seen  my  letter  to 
Miss  Yesey  (aside)-,  or  could  she  have  learned  the  truth  before  she 
ventured  to  be  generous? 

SirJ.  No.  on  my  honor.  (Shouts  without.  “ Hurrah !  hurrah! 
Blue  forever.")  What’s  that? 


5<=> 


MONEY. 


Enter  Shake  11. 

Sharp.  Sir,  a  deputation  from  Groginhole — poll  closed  in  the  first 
hour — you  are  returned.  Hollow,  sir — hollow. 

Eye.  And  it  was  to  please  Clara. 

Sir  J.  Mr.  Sharp — Mr.  Sharp — Isay,  how  much  has  Mr.  Evelyn 
lost  by  Messrs.  Flash  &  Co.  ? 

Sharp.  Oh,  a  great  deal  sir — a  great  deal. 

Sir  J.  (Alarmed.)  How!  A  great  deal! 

Eve.  Speak  the  truth,  Sharp,  concealment  is  all  over. 

Sharp.  223 Z.  6s.  3 d. — a  great  sum  to  throw  away. 

Sir  J.  Eh!  what,  my  dear  boy  ?  what ?  Ha!  ha!  all  humbug,  was 
it?  All  humbug,  upon  my  soul!  So,  Mr.  Sharp,  isn’t  he  ruined,  after 
all?  Not  the  least,  wee,  rascally,  little  bit  in  the  world,  ruined? 

Sharp.  Sir,  he  has  never  lived  up  to  his  income. 

Sir  J.  Worthy  man!  I  could  jump  up  to  the  ceiling!  I  am  the 
happiest  father-in-law  in  the  three  kingdoms.  (Knocking  II.)  And 
that’s  my  sister’s  knock,  too. 

Clara.  Since  1  was  mistaken,  cousin;  since,  now,  you  do  not 
need  me,  forget  what  has  passed.  My  business  here  is  over. 
Farewell! 

Eve.  Could  you  but  see  my  heart  at  this  moment,  with  what 
love,  what  veneration,  what  anguish  it  is  filled!  And  must  we  part 
now — now,  when — when — 

Enter  Lady  Franklin  and  Georgina,  followed  by  Blount,  who  looks 

shy  and  embarrassed. 

Graves.  Georgina  herself — then  there’s  no  hope! 

Sir  J.  What  the  deuce  brings  that  fellow  Blount  here?  Georgy, 
my  dear  Georgy,  I  want  to — 

Eve.  Stand  back.  Sir  John. 

Sir  J.  But  I  must  speak  a  word  to  her.  I  want  to — 

Eve.  Stand  back,  I  say.  Not  a  whisper,  nor  a  sign.  If  your 
daughter  is  to  be  my  wife,  to  her  heart  only- will  I  look  for  a  reply 

to  mine. 

Lady  F.  (To  Georgina.)  Speak  the  truth,  niece. 

Eve.  Georgina,  it  is  true,  then,  that  you  trust  me  with  your  con¬ 
fidence — your  fortune?  Is  it  also  true  that,  when  you  did  so,  you  be¬ 
lieved  me  ruined?  Answer  as  if  your  father  stood  not  there — answer 
as  the  woman’s  heart,  yet  virgin  and  unpolluted,  should  answer,  to 
one  who  has  trusted  to  it  his  all. 

Geo.  What  can  he  mean? 

Sir  J.  (Making  signs.)  She  won’t  look  this  way,  she  won’t!  hang 
her!  Hem! 

Eve.  You  falter.  I  implore — I  adjure  you,  answer! 

Lady  F.  The  truth! 

Eve.  Mr.  Evelyn,  your  fortune  might  well  dazzle  me,  as  it 
dazzled  others.  Believe  me,  1  sincerely  pity  your  reverses. 

Sir  J.  Good  girl.  You  hear  her,  Evelyn? 

Geo.  What’s  money  without  happiness? 

Sir  J.  Clever  creature!  My  own  sentiments! 


MONEY. 


51 


Geo.  And,  so  as  our  engagement  is  now  annulled — papa  told  me 
so  this  very  morning — I  have  promised  my  hand  where  I  have  given 
my  heart — to  Sir  Frederick  Blount. 

Sir  J.  I  told  you — I?  No  such  thing — no  such  thing!  You  frighten 
her  out  of  her  wits.  She  don’t  know  what  she’s  saying. 

Eve.  Am  I  awake?  But  this  letter — this  letter,  received  to-day — 

Lady  F.  {Looking  over  the  letter.)  Drummond’s!  From  a  banker! 

Eve.  Read— read. 

Lady  F.  “Ten  thousand  pounds  placed  to  your  account,  from  the 
same  unknown  friend  to  Alfred  Evelyn.”  Oh,  Clara,  I  know  now 
whv  vou  went  to  Drummond's  this  morning! 

Eve.  Clara!  what!  And  the  former  one  with  the  same  signature 
— on  the  faith  of  which  I  pledged  my  hand  and  sacrificed  my 
heart — 

Lady  F.  Was  written  under  my  eyes,  and  the  secret  kept  that — 

Eve.  Look  up,  look  up,  Clara!  1  am  free!  I  am  released!  You  for¬ 
give  me?  Yrou  love  me?  You  are  mine!  We  are  rich — rich!  I  can 
give  you  fortune,  power;  I  can  devote  to  you  my  whole  life,  thought, 
heart,  soul.  I  am  all  yours,  Clara — my  own,  my  wife! 

Sir  J.  A  pretty  mess  you’ve  made  of  it,  to  humbug  your  own 
father!  And  you,  too,  Lady  Franklin;  I  am  to  thank  you  for  this! 

Lady  F.  You’ve  to  thank  me  that  she’s  not  now  on  the  road  to 
Scotland  with  Sir  Frederick.  I  chanced  on  them  by  the  park  just 
in  time  to  dissuade  and  save  her.  But  to  do  her  justice,  a  hint  of 
your  displeasure  was  sufficient. 

Geo.  ( Half  sobbing.)  And  you  know,  papa,  you  said  this  very 
morning  that  poor  Frederick  had  been  very  ill  used,  and  you  would 

settle  it  all  at  the  club. 

Blount.  Come,  Sir  John,  you  can  only  blame  yourself  and  Eve¬ 
lyn’s  cunning  device.  After  all,  I  am  no  such  vewy  bad  match; 
and  as  for  the  10,000^. — 

Eve.  I’ll  double  it.  Ah,  Sir  John,  what’s  money  without  hap¬ 
piness? 

Sir  J.  Pshaw — nonsense — stuff!  Don’t  humbug  me. 

Lady  F,  But  if  you  don’t  consent,  she’ll  have  no  husband  at  all. 

Sir  J.  Hum!  there’s  something  in  that.  ( Aside  to  Evelyn.) 
Double  it,  will  you?  Then  settle  it  all  tightly  on  her.  Well,  well, 
my  foible  is  not  avarice.  Blount,  make  her  happy.  Child,  I  for¬ 
give  you.  {Pinching  her  arm.)  Ugh,  you  fool!  (Blount  and  Geor¬ 
gina  go  up.) 

Graves.  {To  Lady  Franklin.)  I’m  afraid  it’s  catching.  What 
say  you?  I  feel  the  symptoms  of  matrimony  creeping  all  over  me. 
Shall  we — eh?  Frankly,  now,  frankly — 

Lady  F.  Frankly,  now,  there’s  my  hand. 

Graves.  Accepted!  Is  it  possible?  Sainted  Maria!  Thank  heaven 
you  are  spared  this  affliction. 

Enter  Smooth  II. 

Smooth.  How  d’ye  do,  Alfred?  I  intrude,  I  fear.  Quite  a  family 

party. 

Blount.  Wish  us  joy,  Smooth.  Georgina’s  mine,  and — 


52 


MONEY. 


Smooth.  And  our  four  friends  there  apparently  have  made  up 
another  rubber.  John,  my  dear  boy,  you  look  as  if  you  had  some¬ 
thing  at  stake  on  the  odd  trick. 

Sir  J.  Sir,  you’re  very- confound  the  fellow!  and  he’s  a  dead 
shot,  too! 

Enter  Stout  and  Glossmoke  hastily ,  talking  with  each. other. 

Stout.  I’m  sure  he’s  of  our  side.  We’ve  all  the  intelligence. 

Gloss.  I'm  sure  he’s  of  ours  if  his  fortune  is  safe,  for  we’ve  all 
the  property. 

Stout.  Just  heard  of  your  return,  Evelyn.  Congratulate  you. 
The  great  motion  of  the  session  is  fixed  for  Friday.  We  count  on 
your  vote.  Progress  with  the  times. 

Gloss.  Preserve  the  constitution!. 

Stout.  Your  money  will  do  wonders  for  the  party.  Advance 

Gloss.  The  party  respects  men  of  your  property.  Stick  fast. 

Eve.  I  have  the  greatest  respect,  I  assure  you,  for  the  worthy 
and  intelligent  flies  upon  both  sides  the  wheel;  but  whether  we  go 
too  fast  or  too  slow  does  not,  I  fancy,  depend  so  much  on  the  flies  as 
on  the  Stout  Gentleman  who  sits  inside  and  pays  the  postboys. 

Smooth.  Meaning  John  Bull.  Ce  Cher  old  John. 

Eve.  Smooth,  we  have  yet  to  settle  our  first  piquet  account,  and 
our  last.  And  I  sincere!}’  thank  you  for  the  service  you  have  ren¬ 
dered  to  me,  and  the  lesson  you  have  given  these  gentlemen.  ( Turn¬ 
ing  to  Clara.)  Ah,  Clara,  you — you  have  succeeded  where  wealth 
had  failed.  You  have  reconciled  me  to  the  world  and  to  mankind. 
My  friends,  we  must  confess  it,  amidst  the  humors  and  the  follies, 
the  vanities,  deceits  and  vices  that  play  their  part  in  the  great  com¬ 
edy  of  life,  it  is  our  own  fault  if  we  do  not  find  such  natures,  though 
rare  and  few,  as  redeem  the  rest,  brightening  the  shadows  that  are 
flung  from  the  form  and  body  of  the  time  with  glimpses  of  the  ever¬ 
lasting  holiness  of  truth  and  love. 

Graves.  But  for  the  truth  and  the  love,  when  found,  to  make  us 
tolerably  happy,  we  should  not  be  without — 

Lady  F.  Good  health. 

Graves.  Good  spirits. 

Clara.  A  good  heart. 

Smooth.  An  innocent  rubber. 

Geo.  Congenial  tempers. 

Blount.  A  pwoper  degwee  of  pwudence. 

Stout.  Enlightened  opinions. 

Gloss.  Constitutional  principles. 

Sir  J.  A  little  humbug. 

Eve.  And — plenty  of  money. 

The  End. 

Disposition  of  the  Characters  at  the  fall  of  the  Curtain  . 

Stout.  Smooth.  Sir  John.  Lady  F.  Graves, 
Blount.  Georgina.  Evelyn.  Clara.  L. 


Gloss. 

11. 


Curtain  . 


DENISON’S  ACTING  PLAYS. 

Price  15  Cents  Each,  Postpaid,  Unless  Different  Price  is  Given. 


FARCES  AND  SKETCHES. 


Mi  F. 

In  the  Wrong  House,  20  min. . .  4  2 
Irish  Linen  Peddler,  40  min. ..  3  3 

Is  the  Editor  in?  20  min .  4  2 

John  Smith,  30  min .  5  3 

Just  My  Luck,  20  min .  4  3 

Kansas  Immigrants,  20  min. ..  5  1 

Kiss  in  the  Dark,  30  min .  2  3 

Larkins’  Love  Letters,  50  min.  3  2 

Limerick  Boy,  30  min . .'.  5  2 

Love  and  Rain,,  sketch,  20  m...  1  1 

Lucky  Sixpence,  30  min .  4  2 

Lucy’s  Old  Man,  sketch,  15  m.  2  3 

Mike  Donovan,  15  min .  1  3 

Misses  Beers,  25  min .  3  3 

Mistake  in  Identity,  sketch,  15 

min .  0  2 

Model  of  a  Wife,  25  min .  3  2 

Movement  Cure,  15  min .  5  0 

Mrs.  Gamp’s  Tea,  sketch,  15  m.  0  2 

My  Jeremiah,  20  min .  3  2 

My  Lord  in  Livery,  45  min. . ..  4  3 
My  Neighbor’s  Wife,  45  min...  3  3 

My  Turn  Next,  50  min .  4  3 

Narrow  Escape,  sketch,  15  m..  0  2 

Not  at  Home,  15  min .  2  0 

On  Guard,  25  min . .  4  2 

Persecuted  Dutchman,  35  min.  0  3 

Pets  of  Society,  30  min .  0  7 

Played  and  Lost,  sketch,  15  m.  3  2 

Pull  Back,  20  min .  0  6 

Quiet  Family,  45  min .  4  4 

Realm  ot'  Time,  musical  al¬ 
legory,  30  min .  8  15 

Regular  Fix,  50  min  .  6  4 

Rough  Diamond,  40  min .  4  3 

Row  in  Kitchen  and  Politician’s 

Breakfast,  2  monologues. . .  1  1 

Silent  Woman,  25  min .  2  1 

Slasher  and  Crasher,  1  h.15  m.  5  2 
Squeers*  School,  sketch,  18  m..  4  2 

Taming  a  Tiger,  20  min . .  3  0 

That  Rascal  Pat,  35  min .  3  2 

Too  Much  of  a  Good  Thing,  50 

min . 3  0 

Turn  Him  Out,  50  min .  3  3 

Twenty  Minutes  Under  Um¬ 
brella,  sketch,  20  min _ 1  1 


Two  Bonnycastles,45  min.  ...  3  3 

T  wo  Gay  Dece  i  vers ,  25  m  i  n . . . .  3  0 
Two  Gents  in  a  Fix,  20  min.  ..  2  0 
Two  Ghosts  in  White,  25  min.  0  8 

Two  Puddifoots,  40  min .  3  3 

Uncle  Dick's  Mistake,  20  min  .  3  2 
Very  Pleasant  Evening,  30  m  .  3  0 
Wanted  a  Correspondent,  1  hr.  4  4 
Which  Will  He  Marry?  30  m..  2  8 

White  Caps  (The),  musical,  30 

min  .  0  8 

Who  Told  The  Lie ?  30  m in . . .  5  3 
Wide  Enough  for  Two,  50  min.  5  2 
Women  of  Lowenburg,  histori¬ 
cal  sketch,  5  scenes,  50  m..  10  10 
Woman  Hater  (The),  30  min. .  2  1 

\  T.  S,  DENISON,  Publisher, 


M.  F. 


Wonderful  Letter.  25  min .  4  1 

Wooing  Under  Difficulties,  35 

min .  4  3 

Yankee  Peddler,  1  hr .  7  3 

ETHIOPIAN  FARCES. 

Academy  of  Stars.  15  min .  5  1 

All  Expenses:  Or,  Nobody’s 

Son,  10  min . 2  0 

Baby  Coach  Parade,  20  min. .  4  2 
Back  from  Californy;  Or,  Old 

Clothes,  12  min  .* .  3  0 

Deaf,  I11  a  Horn,  12  min .  2  0 

Hamlet  the  Dainty,  15  min _  0  1 

Handy  Andy,  12  min .  2  0 

Haunted  House,  8  min .  2  0 

Joke  on  Squinim  (The).  25  m..  4  2 

Jumbo  Jum,  30  min .  4  3 

Mischievous  Nigger  (The),  20 

min .  4  2 

No  Cure,  No  Pay,  10  min .  3  1 

Othello  and  Desdemona,  12  m.  2  0 
Prof.  Black’s  Funnygraph,  15 

min .  0  0 

Quarrelsome  Servants,  8  min. .  3  0 

Rooms  to  Let,  15  min .  2  1 

Sham  Doctor  (The),  15  min. . .  4  2 

Sports  on  a  Lark,  8  min .  3  0 

Stage  Struck  Darky,  10  min...  2  1 
Stocks  Up,  Stocks  Down,  8m..  2  0 

Tricks,  10  min . .  5  2 

Two  Pompeys  (The),  8*min _  4  0 

Uncle  Jeff,  25  min .  5  2 

Unhappy  Pair  (An),  10  min.  ..  3  0 
Villikens  and  His  Dinah  20  m.  4  1 
Wax  Works  at  Play,  30  min. . .  3  1 
William  Tell,  15  min .  4  0 


The  publisher  believes  that  lie  can 
say  truthfully  that  Denison’s  list  of 
plays  is  on  the  whole  the  best  se¬ 
lected  and  most  successful  in  the 
market.  New  Plays  will  be  added 
from  time  to  time. 

Manuscripts ,  not  only  of  plays  but 
of  any  books  similar  to  those  in  Den¬ 
ison’s  catalogue,  will  receive  careful 
attention  and  if  accepted  will  be 
paid  for  at  current  prices. 


I63  Randolph  St.,  Chicago. 


Any  Play  on  this  List  15  Cts.  Postpaid.  Catalogue  Free.) 


Plays  by  T.  S.  DENISON. 

That  the  plays  written  by  T.  S.  Deni¬ 
son  are,  all  things  considered,  the  best 
for  amateurs,  is  attested  by  their  very 
large  and  increasing  sale. 

ODDS  WITH  THE  ENEMY. 

A  drama  in  five  acts;  7  male  and  4 
female  characters.  Time,  2  hours. 

SETH  GREENBACK. 

A  drama  in  4  acts;  7  male  and  3  fe¬ 
male  Time,  1  h.,  15  m. 


IS  THE  EDITOR  IN? 

A  farce;  4  male  and  2  female;  20  m. 

AN  ONLY  DAUGHTER. 

A  drama  in  3  acts;  5  male  and  2  fe  • 
male.  Time,  1  hour,  15  m. 

PETS  OF  SOCIETY. 

A  farce;  7  female.  Time,  25  m. 

HARD  CIDER. 

A  very  amusing  temperance  sketch;  < 
male,  2  female.  Time,  to  m. 


INITIATING  A  GRANGER. 

A  ludicrous  farce;  8  male.  Time,  25  m. 

WANTED,  A  CORRESPONDENT. 

A  farce  in  2  acts;  4  male,  4  female. 
Time,  45  m. 

A  FAMILY  STRIKE. 

Afarce,3  male, 3  female.  Time,  20m. 

TWO  GHOSTS  IN  WHITE. 

A  humorous  farce,  boarding  school 
life;  S  female  characters.  Time,  25  m. 

THE  ASSESSOR. 

A  humorous  sketch;  3  male  and  2  fe¬ 
male.  Time,  10  m. 

BORROWING  TROUBLE. 

A  ludicrous  farce;  3  male  and  5  fe¬ 
male.  Time,  20  m. 

COUNTRY  JUSTICE. 

Amusing  country  lawsuit  ;  S  male 
characters.  (May  admit  1 1.)  Time,  15  m. 

THE  PULL-BACK. 

A  laughable  farce;  6  female.  Time, 
20  m. 

HANS  VON  SMASH. 

A  roaring  farce  in  a  prologue  and  one 
act;  4  male  and  3  female.  Time,  30  m. 

OUR  COUNTRY. 

A  patriotic  drama.  Requires  10  male* 
{6  female.  (Admits  11  m.  13  f.)  Four  fine 
tableaux.  Time  about  1  hour. 

THE  SCHOOLMA’AM. 

A  brilliant  comedy  in  4  acts;  6  male,  5 
female.  Time  1  hour,  45  m. 

THE  IRISH  LINEN  PEDDLER. 

A  lively  farce;  3  male,  3  female.  Time 
40  m. 

THE  KANSAS  IMMIGRANTS. 

A  roaring  farce;  5  male,  1  female. 
Time,  20  m. 

TOO  MUCH  OF  A  GOOD  THING. 

A  capital  farce  ;  3  male,  6  female. 
Time,  45  ra. 


LOUVA,  THE  PAUPER. 

A  drama  in  5  acts;  9  male  and  4  fe¬ 
male  characters.  Time,  1  hour,  45  m. 

UNDER  THE  LAURELS. 

A  drama  in  five  acts;  a  stirring  play, 
fully  equal  to  Louva  the  Pauper.  Five 
male,  4  female,  l  ime.  1  hour,  45  m. 

THE  SPARKLING  CUP.  • 

A  temperance  drama  in  five  acts;  12 
male  and  4  female.  Time  a  h. 

THE  DANGER  SIGNAL. 

A  drama;  7  male,  4  female.  Time,  2  h. 

WIDE  ENOUGH  FOR  TWO. 

A  farce;  5  male,  2  female.  Time,  45  m. 

BOOKS  FOR  ENTERTAINMENTS 

WORK  AND  PLAY. 

For  little  folks.  Exercises  in  letters 
numbers,  objects,  geography,  animals 
motion-songs,  dialogues,  charades,  etc. 
etc.,  postpaid,  50c. 

PRANKS  AND  PASTIMES. 

For  home,  school  or  church.  Nearlj 
100  games,  charades,  scenes,  etc.,  50c. 

Negro  Minstrel  Book,  25c. 

Social  Games  at  Cards,  35c. 
Private  Theatricals,  how  to  get  up 
25c. 

WHEN  LESSONS  ARE  OVER. 

Dialogues,  Plays,  N  uts  to  Crack,  25c 

ENCHANTED  WOOD. 

Bright,  New  Opera.  Price,  35c. 

Dialect  Readings,  humorous,  25c. 

THE  FRIDAY  DIALOGUES. 

Short,  lively.  Boys  and  Girls.  Price  25c 

FRIDAY  AFTERNOON  SPEAKER 

For  little  folks,  for  older  boys  and  girls 
short,  pithy  dialogues.  Price  25c. 

Dialogues  from  Dickens,  25c. 
Shadow  Pictures,  Pantomimes,  Tat 
ieaux,  etc.,  etc.,  25c. 

Choice  Pieces  for  Little  People,  25c 
School  and  Parlor  Tableaux,  25c. 
Debater’s  Handbook,  cloth,  50c. 
Everybody’s  Letter  Writer,  30c. 
Good  Manners,  paper  cover,  30c. 


T.  S.  DENISON,  Publisher,  163  Randolph  Street,  CHICAGO. 


7 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS-URBANA 


3  0112  073703222 


